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THE  MIND  AND 
ITS  EDUCATION 


— « 


THE  MIND  AND  ITS 
EDUCATION 


r 


k- 


v^ 

>■ 


BY 


GEORGE  HERBERT  BETTS,  Ph.D. 

PBOFESSOE  OF  PSYCHOLOGY  IN  CORNELL  COLLEGE 


REVISED  AND  ENLARGED  EDITION 


NEW  YORK 
D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


ftM/Tl  8 


COPTBIQHT,    1906,    1916,   BT 

D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANl 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


LB 


1 


PREFACE  TO  THE  REVISED  EDITION 

Authors,  no  doubt,  are   always  gratified  when  their 
works  find  favorable  acceptance.    The  writer  of  this  text 
has  been  doubly  gratified,  however,  at  the  cordial  recep- 
tion and  widespread  use  accorded  to  the  present  volume. 
This  feeling  does  not  arise  from  any  narrow  personal 
pride  or  selfish  interest,  but  rather  from  the  fact  that 
the  warm  approval  of  the  educational  public  has  proved 
an    important    point;    namely,    that   the    fundamental 
truths  of  psychology,  when  put  simply  and  concretely, 
can  be  made  of  interest  and  value  to  students  of  all  ages 
from  high  school  juniors  up,  and  to  the  general  public 
as  well.     More  encouraging  still,   it  has  been  demon- 
strated that  the  teachings  of  psychology  can  become  im- 
mediately helpful,  not  only  in  study  or  teaching,  but 
also  in  business  or  profession,  in  the  control  and  giiul- 
anee  of  the  personal  life,  and  in  the  problems  met  in  the 
routine  of  the  day's  work  or  its  play. 

In  effecting  the  present  revision,  the  salient  features 
of  the  original  edition  have  been  kept.  The  truths  pre- 
sented are  the  most  fundamental  and  important  in  the 
field  of  psycholog}^  Disputed  theories  and  unsettled 
opinions  are  excluded.  The  subject  matter  is  made  con- 
crete and  practical  by  the  use  of  many  illustrations  and 
through  application  to  real  problems.  The  style  has 
been  kept  easy  and  familiar  to  facilitate  the  reading. 
In  short,  there  has  been,  while  seeking  to  improve  the 
volume,  a  conscious  purpose  to  omit  none  of  the  char- 

r 


vi  PREFACE  TO  THE  REVISED  EDITION 

acteristies  which  secured  acceptance  for  the  former  edi- 
tion. 

On  the  other  hand,  certain  changes  and  additions  have 
been  made  which,  it  is  believed,  will  add  to  the  stren^h 
of  the  work.  First  of  all,  the  later  psychological  studies 
and  investigations  have  been  drawn  upon  to  insure  that 
the  matter  shall  at  all  points  be  abreast  of  the  times  in 
scientific  accuracy.  Because  of  the  wide  use  of  the  text 
in  the  training  of  teachers,  a  more  specific  educational 
application  to  schoolroom  problems  has  been  made  in 
various  chapters.  Exercises  for  the  guidance  of  observa- 
tion work  and  personal  introspection  are  freely  used. 
The  chapter  on  Sensation  and  Perception  has  been  sep- 
arated into  two  chapters,  and  each  subject  given  more 
extensive  treatment.  A  new  chapter  has  been  added  on 
A.s.sociation.  The  various  chapters  have  been  subdivided 
into  numbered  sections,  and  cut-in  paragraph  topics 
have  been  used  to  facilitate  the  study  and  teaching  of 
the  text.  Minor  changes  and  additions  occur  through- 
out the  volume,  thus  adding  some  forty  pages  to  the 
number  in  the  original  edition. 

•Many  of  the  modifications  made  in  the  revision  are  due 
to  valuable  suggestions  and  kindly  criticisms  received 
from  many  teachers  of  the  text  in  various  types  of 
schools.  To  all  who  have  thus  helped  so  generously  by 
freely  giving  the  author  the  fruits  of  their  judgment 
and  experience  he  gladly  renders  grateful  thanks. 

Cornell  College, 
Iowa. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  I 
THE  MIND,  OR  CONSCIOUSNESS 

1.  How  the  mind  is  to  be  known:  Personal  character 
of  consciousness — Introspection  the  only  means  of  discov- 
ering nature  of  consciousness — How  we  introspect — 
Studying  mental  states  of  others  through  expression — 
Learning  to  interpret  expression.  2.  The  nature  of  con- 
sciousness: Inner  nature  of  the  mind  not  revealed  by 
introspection — Consciousness  as  a  process  or  stream — 
Consciousness  likened  to  a  field — The  "piling  up"  of  con- 
sciousness is  attention.  3.  Content  of  the  mental  stream : 
Why  we  need  minds — Content  of  consciousness  deter- 
mined by  function — Three  fundamental  phases  of  con- 
sciousness. 4.  Where  consciousness  resides:  Conscious- 
ness works  through  the  nervous  systenu  5.  Problems  in 
observation  and  introspection 


CHAPTER  II 

ATTENTION 

1.  Nature  of  attention :  The  nature  of  attention — Nor- 
mal consciousness  always  in  a  state  of  attention.  2.  The 
effects  of  attention  :  Attention  makes  its  object  clear  and 
definite — Attention  measures  mental  efficiency.  3.  How 
we  attend :  Attention  a  relating  activity — The  rhythms  of 
attention.    4.  Points  of  failure  in  attention :  Lack  of  con- 

vii 


FAGB 


viii  CONTENTS 


FA6B 


centration — Mental  wandering.  5.  Types  of  attention; 
The  three  types  of  attention — Interest  and  nonvoluntary 
attention — The  vrill  and  voluntary  attention — Not  really 
different  kinds  of  attention — Making  different  kinds  of  at- 
tention reenforce  each  other — The  habit  of  attention  .     .       15 


CHAPTER  ni 

THE  BRAIN  AND  NERVOUS  SYSTEM 

1.  The  relations  of  mind  and  brain :  Interaction  of 
mind  and  brain — The  brain  as  the  mind's  machine.  2.  The 
mind's  dependence  on  the  external  world :  The  mind  at 
birth — The  work  of  the  senses.  3.  Structural  elements  of 
tlio  nen'ous  system:  The  neurone — Neiu'one  fibere — Neu- 
roglia— Complexity  of  the  brain — "Gray"  and  "white" 
matter.  4.  Gross  structure  of  the  nervous  system:  Divi- 
sions of  the  nervous  system — -The  central  system — The 
cereboiluin — The  cerebrum — The  cortex — The  spinal  cord. 
5.  Lm-alization  of  function  in  the  nervous  system:  Divi- 
sion of  labor — Division  of  labor  in  the  cortex.  6.  Forms 
of  sen.sory  stinuili :  The  end-organs  and  their  response  to 
stimuli — Dei>endence  of  the  mind  on  the  senses    ...       30 


CHAPTER  IV 

MENTAL  DEVErvOriMENT  AND  MOTOR  TRAINING 

1.  Far-tors  dptcnnining  the  efficiency  of  (ho  nervous  sys- 
tem :  Dcvi'lopiiiciit  and  iiufrition — TTruh^voloped  colls — De- 
vcloiunuiit  of  nervo  libers.  2.  Devehipiiioiit  of  nervous 
KyHlorn  through  u.so:  Importance  of  stinmlus  and  re- 
HponHo — KlTcM't  of  sen.sory  stimuli — Necessily  for  motor 
arlivify — Dovclopmciil  of  Iho  association  centers — The 
fartors  iiivojvrd  iti  ji  simple  action.    .'3.  Education  and  the 


CONTENTS  ix 

PAGB 

training  of  the  nervous  system :  Education  to  supply  op- 
portunities for  stimulus  and  response — Order  of  devel- 
opment in  the  nei-vous  system.  4.  Importance  of  health 
and  vigor  of  the  nervous  system :  The  influence  of  fa- 
tigue— The  effects  of  worry — The  factors  in  good  nutri- 
tion.   5.  Problems  for  introspection  and  observation  .     .       50 


CHAPTER  V 

HABIT 

1.  The  nature  of  habit :  The  physical  basis  of  habit — 
All  living  tissue  plastic — Habit  a  modification  of  brain 
tissue — We  must  form  habits.  2.  The  place  of  habit  in 
the  economy  of  our  lives:  Habit  increases  skill  and  effi- 
ciency— Habit  saves  effort  and  fatigue — Habit  economizes 
moral  effort — The  habit  of  attention — Habit  enables  us 
to  meet  the  disagreeable — Habit  the  foundation  of  person- 
ality— Habit  saves  worry  and  rebellion.  3.  The  tyranny 
of  habit:  Even  good  habits  need  to  be  modified — The 
tendency  of  "ruts."  4.  Habit-forming  a  part  of  educa- 
tion :  Youth  the  time  for  habit-forming — The  habit  of 
achievement.  5.  Rules  for  habit -forming:  James's  three 
maxims  for  habit-forming — The  preponderance  of  good 
habits  over  bad 66 


CHAPTER  VI 
SENSATION 

1.  How  we  come  "to  know  the  external  world :  Knowl- 
edge through  the  senses — The  unity  of  sensory  experi- 
ence— The  sensory  processes  to  be  explained — The  quali- 
ties of  objects  exist  in  the  mind — The  three  sets  of  fac- 
tors.   2.  The  nature  of  sensation :  Sensation  gives  us  our 


X  CONTENTS 

FAQB 

world  of  qualities — The  attributes  of  sensation.  3.  Sen- 
soiy  qualities  and  tbeii-  eud-organs:  Sight — Hearing — 
Taste — Smell — Various  sensations  from  the  skin — The 
kina?sthetie  senses — The  orgajiic  senses.  4.  Problems  in 
observation  and  retrospection 84 

CHAPTER  VII 
rERCEPTION 

1.  The  function  of  perception:  Need  of  knowing  the 
material  world — The  problem  which  confronts  the  child. 

2.  The  nature  of  perception:  How  a  percept  is  fonned — 
The  percept  uivolves  all  relations  of  the  object — The  con- 
tent of  tlie  percept — The  accuracy  of  percepts  depends 
on   exi)erience — Not   definitions,   but   first-hand    contact. 

3.  The  perception  of  space :  The  perceiving  of  distance — 
The  perceiving  of  direction.  4.  The  perception  of  time: 
Nature  of  (ho  time  sense — No  perception  of  empty  time. 
5.  Tlio  training  of  j>erception :  Perception  needs  to  be 
trained — School  training  in  perception.  6.  Problems  in 
observation   and   introspection 98 


CHAPTER  VIII 

MENTAL  IMAGES  AND  IDEAS 

1.  Tim  part  played  by  past  experience:  Present  think- 
ing deiK'nds  on  pa.st  exi)crience — The  present  interpreted 
by  the  puHt — The  future  also  depends  on  the  past — Rank 
dcliTriiiiird  by  ability  (o  ulilizo  past  experience.  2.  How 
past  «'X|icriciic('  is  (•(.nserved  :  I'lust  experience  ccmserved  in 
bulb  iiiciilal  niid  physical  lerms— The  image  and  the  idea 
— All  our  p.ist  experience  potentially  at  our  command. 
3.  liHlividuul  differences  in  inuigery:  Images  to  bo  viewed 
by  introspection — The  varied  imagery  suggested  by  one's 


CONTENTS 


PAoa 


dining  table — Power  of  imagery  varies  in  different  people 
— Imagery  types.  4.  The  function  of  images :  Images 
supply  material  for  imagination  and  memory — Imagery 
in  the  thought  processes — The  use  of  imagery  in  litera- 
ture— Points  where  images  are  of  greatest  service.  5.  The 
cultivation  of  imagerj'^ :  Images  depend  on  sensory  stimuli 
— The  influence  of  frequent  recall — The  reconstruction  of 
our  images.  6.  Problems  in  introspection  and  observa- 
tion     Ill 


CHAPTER  IX 

IMAGINATION 

1.  The  place  of  imagination  in  mental  economy:  Prac- 
tical nature  of  imagination — Imagination  in  the  interpre- 
tation of  historj^,  literatme,  and  art — Imagination  and 
science — Everj'-day  uses  of  imagination — The  building  of 
ideals  and  plans — Imagination  and  conduct — Imagination 
and  thinking.  2.  The  material  used  by  imagination :  Im- 
ages the  stuff  of  imagination — The  two  factors  in  imagi- 
nation— Imagination  limited  by  stock  of  images — Limited 
also  by  our  constructive  ability — The  need  of  a  purpose. 
3.  Tj^pes  of  imagination :  Reproductive  imagination — 
Creative  imagination.  4.  Training  the  imagination: 
Gathering  of  material  for  imagination — We  must  not  fail 
to  build — We  should  can-y  our  ideals  into  action.  5. 
Problems  for  observation  and  introspection     ....     127 


CHAPTER  X 

ASSOCIATION 

1.  The  nature  of  association  :  The  neural  basis  of  asso- 
ciation— Association  the  basis  of  memory — Factors  deter- 
mining direction  of  recall — Association  in  thinking — As- 


xii  CONTENTS 

PAGB 

sociation  and  action.  2.  The  types  of  association :  Funda- 
mental law  of  association — Association  by  contiguity — At 
the  mercy  of  our  associations — Association  by  similarity 
and  contrast— Partial,  or  selective,  association — The  rem- 
edy. 3.  Training  in  association:  The  pleasure-pain  mo- 
tive in  association — Interest  as  a  basis  for  association — 
Association  and  methods  of  learning.  4.  Problems  in  ob- 
servation and  introspection 144 


CHAPTER  XI 
MEMORY 

1,  The  nature  of  memory :  What  is  retained — The  phys- 
ical basis  of  memory — How  we  remember — Dependence  of 
memory  on  brain  quality.  2.  The  four  factors  involved 
in  memory :  Registration — Retention — Recall — Recogni- 
tion. 3.  The  stuff  of  memory :  Images  as  the  material  of 
memory — Images  vary  as  to  type — Other  memory  mate- 
rial. 4.  Laws  underlying  memory:  The  law  of  associa- 
tion— The  law  of  rejietition — The  law  of  recency — The 
law  of  vividness.  5.  Rules  for  using  the  memory :  Wholes 
versus  parts — Rate  of  forgetting — Divided  practice — 
Forcing  the  memory  to  act — Not  a  memory,  but  memories. 
6.  What  constitutes  a  good  memoi-y:  A  good  memoi-y  se- 
lects its  material — A  good  memory  requires  good  thinking 
— Meniorj'  must  bo  specialized.  7.  Memory  devices:  The 
efTccts  of  cramming — Remembering  isolated  facts — Mne- 
monic devices.  8.  Problems  in  observation  and  introspec- 
tion     160 

CHAPTER  XII 

THINKING 

1.  I)ifrnront  types  of  thinking:  Chance,  or  idle  thinking 
— Uncritical    belief — Assimilativo   thinking — Deliberative 


CONTENTS  xiii 

PAQI 

thinkiDg.  2.  The  function  of  thinking :  Meaning  depends 
on  relations — The  function  of  thinking  is  to  discover  rela- 
tions— Near  and  remote  relations — Child  and  adult  think- 
ing. 3.  The  mechanism  of  thinking:  Sensations  and  per- 
cepts as  elements  in  thinking.  4.  The  concept:  The  con- 
cepts serve  to  group  and  classify — Growth  of  a  concept — 
Definition  of  concept — Language  and  the  concept — The 
necessity  for  growing  concepts.  5.  Judgment :  Nature  of 
judgment — Judgment  used  in  percepts  and  concepts — 
Judgment  leads  to  general  truths — The  validity  of  judg- 
ments. 6.  Reasoning:  Nature  of  reasoning — How  judg- 
ments function  in  reasoning — Deduction  and  the  syllogism 
— Induction — The  necessity  for  broad  induction — The  in- 
terrelation of  induction  and  deduction.  7.  Problems  in 
observation  and  introspection 179 


CHAPTER  XIII 

INSTINCT 

1.  The  nature  of  instinct:  The  babe's  dependence  on 
instinct — Definition  of  instinct — Unmodified  instinct  is 
blind.  2.  Law  of  the  appearance  and  disappearance  of 
instincts:  Instincts  appear  in  succession  as  required — 
Many  instincts  are  transitoi-y — Seemingly  useless  in- 
stincts— Instincts  to  be  utilized  when  they  appear — In- 
stincts as  starting  points — The  more  important  human  in- 
stincts. 3.  The  instinct  of  imitation :  Nature  of  imitation 
— Individuality  in  imitation — Conscious  and  unconscious 
imitation — Influence  of  environment — The  influence  of 
personality.  4.  The  instinct  of  play :  The  necessity  for  play 
— Play  in  development  and  education — Work  and  play 
are  complements.  5.  Other  useful  instincts:  Curiosity — 
Manipulation — The  collecting  instinct — The  dramatic  in- 
stinct— The  impulse  to  form  gangs  and  clubs.  6.  Fear: 
Fear  heredity— Fear  of   the  dark— Fear  of  being  left 


xiv  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

alone.  7.  Other  undesirable  instincts:  Selfishness — Pug- 
nacity, or  the  fighting  impulse.  8.  Problems  in  observa- 
tion and  introspection 201 

CHAPTER  XIV 

FEELING  AND  ITS  FUNCTIONS 

1.  The  nature  of  feeling:  The  different  feeling  quali- 
ties— Feeling  always  present  in  mental  content — The 
seeming  neutral  feeling  zone.  2.  Mood  and  disposition : 
How  mood  is  produced — Mood  colors  all  our  thinking — 
Mood  influences  our  judgments  and  decisions — Mood  in- 
fluences effort — Disposition  a  resultant  of  moods — Tem- 
perament. 3.  Permanent  feeling  attitudes,  or  sentiments : 
How  sentiments  develop — The  effect  of  experience — The 
influence  of  sentiment — Sentiments  as  motives.  4.  Prob- 
lems in  observation  and  introspection 226 

CHAPTER  XV 

THE  EMOTIONS 

1.  The  producing  and  exjressing  of  emotion:  Physio- 
logical explanation  of  emotion — Origin  of  characteristic 
emotional  reactions — The  duration  of  an  emotion — Emo- 
tions accomjianying  crises  in  experience.  2.  The  control 
of  otiiolions:  Dependence  on  expression — Relief  through 
expression — Relief  does  not  follow  if  image  is  hold  before 
the  mind — Growing  tendency  toward  emotional  control — 
The  etnt»li(>ns  and  enjoyment — How  emotions  develop — 
The  emotional  factor  in  our  enviroiunent — Literature  and 
tlio  cultivation  of  the  emotions — Ilann  in  emotional  over- 
rxriteineiit.  4.  Kniofidiis  as  motives:  How  our  emotions 
coiniK>l  us— Hmotional  habits.  5.  Problems  in  observa- 
tion and  introspection 239 


CONTENTS  rv 

CHAPTER  XVI 
INTEREST 

PAGE 

1.  The  nature  of  interest:  Interest  a  selective  agent — 
Interest  supplies  a  subjective  scale  of  values — Interest 
dynamic — Habit  antagonistic  to  interest.  2.  Direct  and 
indirect  interest:  Interest  in  the  end  versus  interest  in 
the  activity — Indirect  interest  as  a  motive — Indirect  inter- 
est alone  insufficient.  3.  Transitoriness  of  certain  inter- 
ests: Interests  must  be  utilized  when  they  appear — The 
value  of  a  strong  interest.  4.  Selection  among  our  inter- 
ests :  The  mistake  of  following  too  many  interests — Inter- 
ests may  be  too  narrow — Specialization  should  not  come 
too  early — A  proper  balance  to  be  sought.  5.  Interest 
fundamental  in  education :  Interest  not  antagonistic  to 
effort — Interest  and  character.  6.  Order  of  development 
of  our  interests:  The  interests  of  early  childhood — The 
interests  of  later  childhood — The  interests  of  adolescence. 
7.  Problems  in  observation  and  introspection  ....     254 


CHAPTER  XVn 

THE  WILL 

1.  The  nature  of  the  will :  The  content  of  the  will — 
The  function  of  the  will — How  the  will  exerts  its  compul- 
sion. 2.  The  extent  of  voluntaiy  control  over  our  acts: 
Simple  reflex  acts — Instinctive  acts — Automatic,  or  spon- 
taneous acts — The  cycle  from  volitional  to  automatic — 
Volitional  action — Volition  acts  in  the  making  of  deci- 
sions— Types  of  decision — The  reasonable  type — Acci- 
dental type :  External  motives — Accidental  type  :  Subjec- 
tive motives — Decision  under  effort.  3.  Strong  and  weak 
•wills :  Not  a  will,  but  wills — Objective  tests  a  false  meas- 


xvi  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

ure  of  will  power.  4.  Volitional  types:  The  impulsive 
type — The  obstructed  will— The  normal  will.  5.  Train- 
ing the  will :  Will  to  be  trained  in  common  round  of  du- 
ties—School work  and  will-training.  6.  Freedom  of  the 
will,  or  the  extent  of  its  control :  Limitations  of  the  will — 
These  limitations  and  conditions  of  freedom.  7.  Problems 
in  observation  and  introspection 271 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

SELF-EXPRESSION  AND  DEVELOPMENT 

1,  Interrelation  of  impression  and  expression:  The 
many  sources  of  impressions — All  impressions  lead  toward 
expression — Limitations  of  expression.  The  place  of  ex- 
pression in  development:  Intellectual  value  of  expression 
— Moral  value  of  expression — Religious  value  of  expres- 
sion— Social  value  of  expression.  3.  Educational  use  of 
expression :  Easier  to  provide  for  the  impression  side  of 
education — The  school  to  take  up  the  handicrafts — Ex- 
pression and  character — Two  lines  of  development.  Prob- 
lems in  introspection  and  observation 294 

Index 307 


THE  MIND  AND 
ITS   EDUCATION 


<*"■*      , 


THE  MIND  AND  ITS 
EDUCATION 

CHAPTER   I 

THE  MIND,  OR  CONSCIOUSNESS 

"We  are  to  study  the  mind  and  its  education ;  but  how  ? 
It  is  easy  to  understand  how  we  may  investigate  the 
great  world  of  material  things  about  us ;  for  we  can  see  it, 
touch  it,  weigh  it,  or  measure  it.  But  how  are  we  to 
discover  the  nature  of  the  mind,  or  come  to  know  the 
processes  by  which  consciousness  works?  For  mind  is 
intangible ;  we  cannot  see  it,  feel  it,  taste  it,  or  handle  it. 
Mind  belongs  not  to  the  realm  of  matter  which  is  known 
to  the  senses,  but  to  the  realm  of  spirit,  which  the  senses 
can  never  grasp.  And  yet  the  mind  can  be  known  and 
studied  as  truly  and  as  scientifically  as  can  the  world 
of  matter.    Let  us  first  of  all  see  how  this  can  be  done. 

1.     HOW  MIND  IS  TO  BE  KNOWN 

The  Personal  Character  of  Consciousness. — Mind  can  be 
observed  and  known.  But  each  one  can  know  directly 
only  his  own  mind,  and  not  another's.  You  and  I  may 
look  into  each  other's  face  and  there  guess  the  mean- 
ing that  lies  back  of  the  smile  or  frown  or  flash  of  the 

1 


2  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

eye,  and  so  read  something  of  the  mind's  activity.  But 
neither  directly  meets  the  other's  mind.  I  may  learn 
to  recognize  3^our  features,  know  your  voice,  respond  to 
the  clasp  of  your  hand ;  but  the  mind,  the  consciousness, 
which  does  j'our  thinking  and  feels  your  joys  and  sor- 
rows, I  can  never  know  completely.  Indeed  I  can  never 
know  your  mind  at  all  except  through  your  bodily  acts 
and  expressions.  Nor  is  there  any  way  in  which  you 
can  reveal  your  mind,  your  spiritual  self,  to  me  except 
through  these  means. 

It  follows  therefore  that  only  you  can  ever  know  you 
and  only  I  can  ever  know  /  in  any  first-hand  and  im- 
mediate way.  Between  your  consciousness  and  mine 
there  exists  a  wide  gap  that  cannot  be  bridged.  Each 
of  us  lives  apart.  AVe  are  like  ships  that  pass  and  hail 
each  other  in  passing  but  do  not  touch.  We  may  work 
together,  live  together,  come  to  love  or  hate  each  other, 
and  yet  our  inmost  selves  forever  stand  alone.  They 
must  live  their  own  lives,  think  their  own  thoughts,  and 
arrive  at  their  own  destiny. 

Introspection  the  Only  Means  of  Discovering  Nature  of 
Consciousness. — What,  then,  is  mind  ?  What  is  the  thing 
that  we  call  consciousness  ?  No  mere  definition  can  ever 
make  it  clearer  than  it  is  at  this  moment  to  each  of  us. 
The  only  way  to  know  what  mind  is,  is  to  look  in  upon 
our  own  consciousness  and  observe  what  is  transpiring 
there.  In  the  language  of  the  psychologist,  we  must 
introspect.  For  one  can  never  come  to  understand  the 
nature  of  mind  and  its  laws  of  working  by  listening  to 
lectures  or  reading  text  books  alone.  There  is  no  psy- 
cholof/y  in  the  text,  but  only  in  your  living,  flowing 
strt;am  of  thought  and  mine.  True,  the  lecture  and  the 
book  may  tell  us  what  to  look  for  when  we  introspect, 
and  how  to  ujiderstand  what  we  find.     But  the  state- 


THE  MIND,  OR  CONSCIOUSNESS  3 

ments  and  descriptions  about  our  minds  must  be  verified 
by  our  own  observation  and  experience  before  they  be- 
come vital  truth  to  us. 

How  We  Introspect. — Introspection  is  something  of  an 
art;  it  has  to  be  learned.  Some  master  it  easily,  some 
with  more  difficulty,  and  some,  it  is  to  be  feared,  never 
become  skilled  in  its  use.  In  order  to  introspect  one 
must  catch  himself  unawares,  so  to  speak,  in  the  very  act 
of  thinking,  remembering,  deciding,  loving,  hating,  and 
all  the  rest.  These  fleeting  phases  of  consciousness  are 
ever  on  the  wing;  they  never  pause  in  their  restless 
flight  and  we  must  catch  them  as  they  go.  This  is  not 
so  easy  as  it  appears;  for  the  moment  we  turn  to  look 
in  upon  the  mind,  that  moment  consciousness  changes. 
The  thing  we  meant  to  examine  is  gone,  and  something 
else  has  taken  its  place.  All  that  is  left  us  then  is  to 
view  the  mental  object  while  it  is  still  fresh  in  the  mem- 
ory, or  to  catch  it  again  when  it  returns. 

Studying  Mental  States  of  Others  through  Expression. — 
Although  I  can  meet  only  my  own  mind  face  to  face,  I 
am,  nevertheless,  under  the  necessity  of  judging  your 
mental  states  and  knowing  what  is  taking  place  in 
your  consciousness.  For  in  order  to  work  successfully 
with  you,  in  order  to  teach  you,  understand  you,  con- 
trol you  or  obey  you,  be  your  friend  or  enemy,  or  as- 
sociate with  you  in  any  other  way,  I  must  know  you. 
But  the  real  you  that  I  must  know  is  hidden  behind  the 
physical  mask  that  we  call  the  body.  I  must,  therefore, 
be  able  to  understand  your  states  of  consciousness  as 
they  are  reflected  in  your  bodily  expressions.  Your 
face,  form,  gesture,  speech,  the  tone  of  voice,  laughter 
and  tears,  the  poise  of  attention,  the  droop  of  grief, 
the  tenseness  of  anger  and  start  of  fear, — all  these  tell 
the  story  of  the  mental  state  that  lies  behind  the  senses. 


4  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

These  various  expressions  are  the  pictures  on  the  screen 
by  which  your  mind  reveals  itself  to  others;  they  are 
the  lan^age  by  which  the  inner  self  speaks  to  the  world 
without. 

Learning  to  Interpret  Expression. — If  I  would  under- 
stand the  workings  of  your  mind  I  must  therefore  learn 
to  read  the  language  of  physical  expression.  I  must 
study  human  nature  and  learn  to  observe  others.  I 
must  apply  the  information  found  in  the  texts  to  an 
interpretation  of  those  about  me.  This  study  of  others 
ma}'  be  un-critical,  as  in  the  mere  intelligent  observation 
of  those  I  meet;  or  it  may  be  scientific,  as  when  I  con- 
duct carefully  planned  psychological  experiments.  But 
in  either  case  it  consists  in  judging  the  inner  states  of 
consciousness  by  their  physical  manifestations. 

The  three  methods  by  which  mind  may  be  studied 
are,  then:    (1)    textbook  description  and  explanntioii; 

(2)  introspection  of  my  own  conscious  processes;  and 

(3)  observation,  of  others,  either  uncritical  or  scientific. 

2.     THE  NATUKE  OF  CONSCIOUSNESS 

Inner  Nature  of  the  Mind  Not  Revealed  by  Introspec- 
tion.— Wo  are  not  to  be  too  greatly  discouraged  if,  even 
by  introspection,  we  cannot  discover  exactly  what  the 
mind  is.  No  one  knows  what  electricity  is,  though 
nearly  everyone  uses  it  in  one  form  or  another.  We 
Ktudy  the  dynamo,  the  motor,  and  the  conductors  through 
which  electricity  manifests  itself.  We  observe  its  effects 
in  li^ht,  heat,  and  mechanical  power,  and  so  learn  the 
laws  which  govern  its  operations.  But  we  are  almost 
n.s  far  from  understanding  its  true  nature  as  were  the 
Ancients  wiio  knew  nothing  of  its  uses.  The  dynamo 
d(Mts  not  create  the  electi-icity,  but  only  furnishes  the 


THE  MIND,  OR  CONSCIOUSNESS  6 

conditions  which  make  it  possible  for  electricity  to  mani- 
fest itself  in  doing  the  world's  work.  Likewise  the 
brain  or  nervous  system  does  not  create  the  mind,  but 
it  furnishes  the  machine  through  which  the  mind  works. 
We  may  study  the  nervous  system  and  learn  something 
of  the  conditions  and  limitations  under  which  the  mind 
operates,  but  this  is  not  studying  the  mind  itself.  As 
in  the  case  of  electricity,  what  we  know  about  the  mind 
we  must  learn  through  the  activities  in  which  it  mani- 
fests itself — these  we  can  know,  for  they  are  in  the 
experience  of  all.  It  is,  then,  only  by  studying  these 
processes  of  consciousness  that  we  come  to  know  the  laws 
which  govern  the  mind  and  its  development.  What 
it  is  that  thinks  and  feels  and  wills  in  us  is  too  hard 
a  problem  for  us  here — indeed,  has  been  too  hard  a 
problem  for  the  philosophers  through  the  ages.  But 
the  thinking  and  feeling  and  willing  we  can  watch  as 
they  occur,  and  hence  come  to  know. 

Consciousness  as  a  Process  or  Stream. — In  looking  in 
upon  the  mind  we  must  expect  to  discover,  then,  not  a 
thing,  but  a  process.  The  thing  forever  eludes  us,  but 
the  process  is  always  present.  Consciousness  is  like  a 
stream,  w^hich,  so  far  as  we  are  concerned  with  it  in  a 
psychological  discussion,  has  its  rise  at  the  cradle  and 
its  end  at  the  grave.  It  begins  with  the  babe's  first 
faint  gropings  after  light  in  his  new  world  as  he  enters 
it,  and  ends  with  the  man's  last  blind  gropings  after 
light  in  his  old  world  as  he  leaves  it.  The  stream  is 
very  narrow  at  first,  only  as  wide  as  the  few  sensations 
which  come  to  the  babe  when  it  sees  the  light  or  heai*s 
the  sound;  it  grows  wider  as  the  mind  develops,  and 
is  at  last  measured  by  the  grand  sum  total  of  life's  ex- 
perience. 

This  mental  stream  is  irresistible.    No  power  outside 


6  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

of  us  can  stop  it  while  life  lasts.  We  cannot  stop  it 
ourselves.  When  we  try  to  stop  thinking,  the  stream 
but  changes  its  direction  and  flows  on.  While  we  wake 
and  while  we  sleep,  while  we  are  unconscious  under  an 
antesthetic,  even,  some  sort  of  mental  process  continues. 
Sometimes  the  stream  flows  slowly,  and  our  thoughts 
lag — we  "feel  slow";  again  the  stream  flows  faster, 
and  we  are  lively  and  our  thoughts  come  with  a  rush; 
or  a  fever  seizes  us  and  delirium  comes  on;  then  the 
stream  runs  wildly  onward,  defying  our  control,  and  a 
mad  jargon  of  thoughts  takes  the  place  of  our  usual 
orderly  array.  In  different  persons,  also,  the  mental 
stream  moves  at  different  rates,  some  minds  being  nat- 
urally slow-moving  and  some  naturally  quick  in  their 
operations. 

Consciousness  resembles  a  stream  also  in  other  par- 
ticulars. A  stream  is  an  unbroken  whole  from  its  source 
to  its  mouth,  and  an  observer  stationed  at  one  point 
cannot  see  all  of  it  at  once.  He  sees  but  the  one  little 
section  which  happens  to  be  passing  his  station  point  at 
tiie  time.  The  current  may  look  much  the  same  from 
moment  to  moment,  but  the  component  particles  which 
constitute  the  stream  are  constantly  changing.  So  it 
is  with  our  thought.  Its  stream  is  continuous  from 
l)irth  till  death,  but  we  cannot  see  any  considerable 
portion  of  it  at  one  time.  When  we  turn  about  quickly 
and  look  in  upon  our  minds,  we  see  but  the  little  present 
moment.  That  of  a  few  seconds  ago  is  gone  and  will 
never  return.  The  thought  whieh  occupied  us  a  mo- 
ment since  ejin  no  more  be  recalled,  just  as  it  was,  than 
can  the  purlicles  conij)()sing  a  stream  be  re-collected  and 
made  to  puss  a  given  point  in  its  course  in  precisely 
the  same  order  and  relation  to  one  another  as  before. 
This  means,  then,  that  we  can  never  have  precisely  the 


THE  MIND,  OR  CONSCIOUSNESS  7 

same  mental  state  twice;  that  the  thought  of  the  mo- 
ment cannot  have  the  same  associates  that  it  had  the 
first  time;  that  the  thought  of  this  moment  will  never 
be  ours  again;  that  all  we  can  know  of  our  minds  at 
any  one  time  is  the  part  of  the  process  present  in  con- 
sciousness at  that  moment. 

The  Wave  in  the  Stream  of  Consciousness. — The  sur- 
face of  our  mental  stream  is  not  level,  but  is  broken 


Fig.  1 

by  a  wave  which  stands  above  the  rest;  which  is  but 
another  way  of  saying  that  some  one  thing  is  always 
more  prominent  in  our  thought  than  the  rest.  Only 
when  we  are  in  a  sleepy  reverie,  or  not  thinking  about 
much  of  anything,  does  the  stream  approximate  a  level. 
At  all  other  times  some  one  object  occupies  the  highest 
point  in  our  thought,  to  the  more  or  less  complete  ex- 


FiG.  2 


elusion  of  other  things  which  we  might  think  about.  A 
thousand  and  one  objects  are  possible  to  our  thought 
at  any  moment,  but  all  except  one  thing  occupy  a  sec- 
ondary place,  or  are  not  present  to  our  consciousness  at 
all.    They  exist  on  the  margin,  or  else  are  clear  off  the 


8  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

edge  of  consciousness,  while  the  one  thing  occupies  the 
center.  "We  may  be  reading  a  fascinating  book  late  at 
night  in  a  cold  room.  The  charm  of  the  writer,  the 
beauty  of  the  heroine,  or  the  bravery  of  the  hero  so  oc- 
cupies the  mind  that  the  weary  eyes  and  chattering  teeth 
are  unnoticed.  Consciousness  has  piled  up  in  a  high 
wave  on  the  points  of  interest  in  the  book,  and  the 
bodily  sensations  are  for  the  moment  on  a  much  lower 
level.     But  let  the  book  grow  dull  for  a  moment,  and 


Fig.  3 

the  make-up  of  the  stream  changes  in  a  flash.  Hero, 
heroine,  or  literary  style  no  longer  occupies  the  wave. 
Tliey  forfeit  their  place,  the  wave  is  taken  by  the  bodily 
sensations,  and  we  are  conscious  of  the  smarting  eyes 
and  shivering  body,  while  these  in  turn  give  way  to 
the  next  object  which  occupies  the  wave.  Figs.  1-3 
illnstratc  those  chanj^cs. 

Consciousness  Likened  to  a  Field. — The  consciousness 
of  any  moment  has  been  less  happily  likened  to  a  field, 
in  the  center  of  which  there  is  an  elevation  higher  than 
the  surrounding  level.  Tliis  center  is  where  conscious- 
ness is  pil('(l  up  on  the  object  which  is  for  the  moment 
foremo.st  in  our  thought.  The  otlier  objects  of  our  con- 
Hc.iousiie.s.s  are  on  tlie  margin  of  the  field  for  the  time 
being,  but,  any  of  them  may  tlio  next  moment  claim  the 
cfiilrr  and  drive  the  former  object  to  the  margin,  or  it 
may  drop  entirely  out  of  consciousness.     This  moment 


THE  MIND,  OR  CONSCIOUSNESS  9 

a  noble  resolve  may  occupy  the  center  of  the  field,  while 
a  troublesome  tooth  begets  sensations  of  discomfort 
which  linger  dimly  on  the  outskirts  of  our  conscious- 
ness; but  a  shooting  pain  from  the  tooth  or  a  random 
thought  crossing  the  mind,  and  lo!  the  tooth  holds 
sway,  and  the  resolve  dimly  fades  to  the  margin  of 
our  consciousness  and   is  gone. 

The  •'Piling  Up"  of  Consciousness  is  Attention. — This 
figure  is  not  so  true  as  the  one  which  likens  our  mind 
to  a  stream  with  its  ever  onward  current  answering  to 
the  flow  of  our  thought;  but  whichever  figure  we  em- 
ploy, the  truth  remains  the  same.  Our  mental  energy 
is  always  piled  up  higher  at  one  point  than  at  others. 
Either  because  our  interest  leads  us,  or  because  the  will 
dictates,  the  mind  is  withdrawn  from  the  thousand  and 
one  things  we  might  think  about,  and  directed  to  this 
one  thing,  which  for  the  time  occupies  chief  place.  In 
other  words,  we  attend;  for  this  piling  up  of  conscious- 
ness is  nothing,  after  all,  but  attention. 

3.    CONTENT  OF  THE  MENTAL  STEEAM 

We  have  seen  that  our  mental  life  may  be  likened  to 
a  stream  flowing  now  faster,  now  slower,  ever  shifting, 
never  ceasing.  We  have  yet  to  inquire  what  constitutes 
the  material  of  the  stream,  or  what  is  the  stuff  that 
makes  up  the  current  of  our  thought — what  is  the 
content  of  consciousness?  The  question  cannot  be  fully 
answered  at  this  point,  but  a  general  notion  can  be 
gained  which  will  be  of  service. 

Why  We  Need  Minds. — Let  us  first  of  all  ask  what 
mind  is  for,  why  do  animals,  including  men,  have  minds? 
The  biologist  would  say,  in  order  that  they  may  adapt 
themselves  to  their  environment.    Each  individual  from 


10  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

mollusc  to  man  needs  the  amount  and  type  of  mind 
that  serves  to  fit  its  possessor  into  its  particular  world 
of  activity.  Too  little  mind  leaves  the  animal  helpless 
in  the  struggle  for  existence.  On  the  other  hand  a 
mind  far  above  its  possessor's  station  would  prove  use- 
less if  not  a  handicap ;  a  mollusc  could  not  use  the  mind 
of  a  man. 

Content  of  Consciousness  Determined  by  Function. — 
How  much  mind  does  man  need  ?  What  range  and  type 
of  consciousness  wiU  best  serve  to  adjust  us  to  our 
world  of  opportunity  and  responsibility?  First  of  all 
we  must  know  our  world,  hence,  our  mind  must  be 
capable  of  gathering  knowledge.  Second,  we  must  be 
able  to  feel  its  values  and  respond  to  the  great  motives 
for  action  arising  from  the  emotions.  Third,  we  must 
have  the  power  to  exert  self-compulsion,  which  is  to 
say  that  we  possess  a  will  to  control  our  acts.  These 
tliree  sets  of  processes,  knowing,  feeling,  and  willing, 
we  shall,  therefore,  expect  to  find  making  up  the  content 
of  our  mental  stream. 

Let  us  proceed  at  once  to  test  our  conclusion  by  intro- 
spection. If  we  are  sitting  at  our  study  table  puzzling 
over  a  difficult  problem  in  geometry,  reasoning  forms 
the  wave  in  the  stream  of  consciousness — the  center  of 
the  field.  It  is  the  chief  thing  in  our  thinking.  The 
fringe  of  our  consciousness  is  made  up  of  various  sensa- 
tiotis  of  the  light  from  the  lamp,  the  contact  of  our 
ciotliing,  the  sounds  going  on  in  the  next  room,  some 
bit  of  memory  seeking  recognition,  a  "tramp"  thought 
whicli  comes  along,  and  a  dozen  other  experiences  not 
strong  enongli  to  occupy  the  center  of  the  field. 

liut  instrad  of  the  study  table  and  the  problem,  give 
lis  a  bright  fireside,  an  easy-chair,  and  notliing  to  do. 
If  we  are  aged,  memories — images  from  out  the  past — 


THE  MIND,  OR  CONSCIOUSNESS  U 

will  probabh^  come  thronging  in  and  occupy  the  field  to 
such  extent  that  the  fire  burns  low  and  the  room  grows 
cold,  but  still  the  forms  from  the  past  hold  sway.  If 
we  are  young,  visions  of  the  future  may  crowd  every- 
thing else  to  the  margin  of  the  field,  while  the  "castles 
in  Spain"  occupy  the  center. 

Our  memories  may  also  be  accompanied  by  emotions — 
sorrow,  love,  anger,  hate,  envy,  joy.  And,  indeed,  these 
emotions  may  so  completely  occupy  the  field  that  the 
images  themselves  are  for  the  time  driven  to  the  mar- 
gin, and  the  mind  is  occupied  with  its  sorrow,  its  love, 
or  its  joy. 

Once  more^  instead  of  the  problem  or  the  memories 
or  the  ' '  castles  in  Spain, ' '  give  us  the  necessity  of  mak- 
ing some  decision,  great  or  small,  where  contending 
motives  are  pulling  us  now  in  this  direction,  now  in 
that,  so  that  the  question  finally  has  to  be  settled  by  a 
supreme  effort  summed  up  in  the  words,  /  will.  This 
is  the  struggle  of  the  will  which  each  one  knows  for 
himself ;  for  who  has  not  had  a  raging  battle  of  motives 
occupy  the  center  of  the  field  while  all  else,  even  the 
sense  of  time,  place  and  existence,  gave  way  in  the 
face  of  this  confiict!  This  struggle  continues  until  the 
decision  is  made,  when  suddenly  all  the  stress  and  strain 
drop  out  and  other  objects  may  again  have  place  in 
consciousness. 

The  Three  Fundamental  Phases  of  Consciousness. — Thus 
we  see  that  if  we  could  cut  the  stream  of  consciousness 
across  as  we  might  cut  a  stream  of  water  from  bank 
to  bank  with  a  huge  knife,  and  then  look  at  the  cut-off 
section,  we  should  find  very  different  constituents  in 
the  stream  at  different  times.  AVe  should  at  one  time 
find  the  mind  manifesting  itself  in  perceiving,  remem- 
bering, imagining,  discriminating,  comparing,  judging. 


12  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

reasoning,  or  the  acts  by  which  we  gain  our  knowledge ; 
at  another  in  fearing,  laving,  Jiating,  sorrowing,  enjoy- 
ing, or  the  acts  of  feeling;  at  still  ajiother  in  choosing, 
or  the  act  of  the  will.  These  processes  would  make 
up  the  stream,  or,  in  other  words,  these  are  the  acts 
which  the  mind  performs  in  doing  its  work.  We  should 
never  find  a  time  when  the  stream  consists  of  but  one  of 
the  processes,  or  when  all  these  modes  of  mental  ac- 
tivity are  not  represented.  They  will  be  found  in  vary- 
ing proportions,  now  more  of  knowing,  now  of  feeling, 
and  now  of  willing,  but  some  of  each  is  always  present 
in  our  consciousness.  The  nature  of  these  different 
elements  in  our  mental  stream,  their  relation  to  each 
otlier,  and  the  manner  in  which  they  all  work  together 
in  amazing  perplexity  yet  in  perfect  harmony  to  produce 
the  wonderful  mind,  will  constitute  the  subject-matter 
we  shall  consider  together  in  the  pages  which  follow. 

4.    WHERE  CONSCIOUSNESS  RESIDES 

I — the  conscious  self — dwell  somewhere  in  this  body, 
but  where?  When  my  finger  tips  touch  the  object  I 
wi.sh  to  examine,  I  seem  to  be  in  them.  When  the  brain 
grows  weary  from  overstudy,  I  seem  to  be  in  it.  When 
the  heart  throbs,  the  breath  comes  quick,  and  the 
muscles  grow  t^nse  from  noble  resolve  or  strong  emo- 
tion. T  seem  to  be  in  them  all.  When,  filled  with  the 
buoyant  life  of  vigorous  youth,  every  fiber  and  nerve 
is  a-t ingle  with  health  and  enthusiasm,  I  live  in  every 
part  of  my  marvelous  body.  Small  wonder  that  the 
ancients  located  the  soul  at  one  time  in  the  heart,  at 
another  in  the  pineal  gland  of  the  brain,  and  at  another 
made  it  coextensive  with  the  body! 

Consciousness  Works  through  the  Nervous  System. — 


THE  MIND,  OR  CONSCIOUSNESS  13 

Later  science  has  taught  that  the  mind  resides  in  and 
works  through  the  nervous  system,  which  has  its  cen- 
tral office  in  the  hrain.  And  the  reason  why  I  seem  to 
be  in  every  part  of  my  body  is  because  the  nervous 
system  extends  to  every  part,  carrying  messages  of  sight 
or  sound  or  touch  to  the  brain,  and  bearing  in  return 
orders  for  movements,  which  set  the  feet  a-dancing  or 
the  fingers  a-tingliug.    But  more  of  this  later. 

This  partnership  between  mind  and  body  is  very  close. 
Just  how  it  happens  that  spirit  may  inhabit  matter 
we  may  not  know.  But  certain  it  is  that  they  interact 
on  each  other.  What  will  hinder  the  growth  of  one  will 
handicap  the  other,  and  what  favors  the  development 
of  either  will  help  both.  The  methods  of  their  co- 
operation and  the  laws  that  govern  their  relationship 
will  develop  as  our  study  goes  on. 


5.  PROBLEMS  IN  OBSERVATION  AND  INTROSPECTION 

One  should  always  keep  in  mind  that  psychology  is  essen- 
tially a  laboratory  science,  and  not  a  text-book  subject.  The 
laboratory  material  is  to  be  found  in  ourselves  and  in  those 
about  us.  While  the  text  should  be  thoroughly  mastered,  its 
statements  should  always  be  verified  by  reference  to  one's 
own  experience,  and  observation  of  others.  Especially  should 
prospective  teachers  constantly  con-elate  the  lessons  of  the 
book  with  the  observation  of  children  at  work  in  the  school. 
The  problems  suggested  for  observation  and  introspection  will, 
if  mastered,  do  much  to  render  practical  and  helpful  the  truths 
of  psychology. 

1.  Think  of  your  home  as  you  last  left  it.  Can  you  see 
vividly  just  how  it  looked,  the  color  of  the  paint  on  the  out- 
side, with  the  familiar  form  of  the  roof  and  all;  can  you 
recall  the  perfume  in  some  old  drawer,  the  taste  of  a  favorite 
dish,  the  sound  of  a  familiar  voice  in  farewell? 


14  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

2.  What  illustrations  have  you  obsei-ved  where  the  mental 
content  of  the  moment  seemed  cliiefly  thinking  (knowledge 
process)  ;  chiefly  emotion  (feeling  process) ;  chiefly  choosing, 
or  self-compulsion   (willing  process)  ? 

3.  When  you  say  that  you  remember  a  circumstance  that 
occurred  yesterday,  how  do  you  remember  it?  That  is,  do 
you  see  in  your  mind  things  just  as  they  were,  and  hear  again 
sounds  which  occurred,  or  feel  again  movements  which  you 
performed?  Do  you  experience  once  more  the  emotions  you 
then  felt? 

4.  What  forms  of  expression  most  commonly  reveal  thought; 
what  reveal  emotions?  (I.  e.,  can  you  tell  what  a  child  is 
thinking  about  by  the  expression  on  his  face?  Can  you  tell 
tell  whether  he  is  angry,  frightened,  sorry,  by  his  face?  Is 
speech  as  necessary  in  expressing  feeling  as  in  expressing 
thought?) 

5.  Try  occasionally  during  the  next  twenty-four  hours  to 
turn  quickly  about  mentally  and  see  whether  you  can  ob- 
serve your  thinking,  feeling,  or  willing  in  the  very  act  of 
taking  place. 

G.  What  becomes  of  our  mind  or  consciousness  while  we 
are  asleep?  How  are  we  able  to  wake  up  at  a  certain  hour 
previously  determined?  Can  a  person  have  absolutely  nothing 
in  his  mind? 

7.  Have  you  noticed  any  children  especially  adept  in  ex- 
pression? Have  you  noticed  any  very  backward?  If  so,  in 
what  form  of  expression  in  each  case? 

8.  Have  you  observed  any  instances  of  expi'ession  which 
you  were  at  a  loss  to  interpret  (remember  that  "expression" 
iiichidcs  every  fnrm  of  i)hysical  action,  voice,  speech,  face, 
form,   hand,  etc.)  t 


CHAPTER  II 

ATTENTION 

How  do  you  rank  in  mental  ability,  and  how  effective 
are  your  mind's  grasp  and  power?  The  answer  that 
must  be  given  to  these  questions  will  depend  not  more 
on  your  native  endowment  than  on  your  skill  in  using 
attention. 

1.     NATUEE  OF  ATTENTION 

It  is  by  attention  that  we  gather  and  mass  our  mental 
energy  upon  the  critical  and  important  points  in  our 
thinking.  In  the  last  chapter  we  saw  that  consciousness 
is  not  distributed  evenly  over  the  whole  field,  but  "piled 
up,"  now  on  this  object  of  thought,  now  on  that,  in 
obedience  to  interest  or  necessity.  The  concentration 
of  the  mind's  energy  on  one  object  of  thought  is  atten- 
tio^i. 

The  Nature  of  Attention. — Everyone  knows  what  it  is 
to  attend.  The  story  so  fascinating  that  we  cannot  leave 
it,  the  critical  points  in  a  game,  the  interesting  sermon 
or  lecture,  the  sparkling  conversation — all  these  compel 
our  attention.  So  completely  is  our  mind's  energy  cen- 
tered on  them  and  withdrawn  from  other  things 
that  we  are  scarcely  aware  of  what  is  going  on  about 
us. 

We  are  also  familiar  with  another  kind  of  attention. 
For  we  all  have  read  the  dull  story,  watched  the  slow 
game,  listened  to  the  lecture  or  sermon  that  drags,  and 

15 


16  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCxVTION 

taken  part  in  conversation  that  was  a  bore.  We  gave 
these  things  our  attention,  but  only  with  effort.  Our 
mind 's  energy  seemed  to  center  on  anything  rather  than 
the  matter  in  hand.  A  thousand  objects  from  outside 
enticed  us  away,  and  it  required  the  frequent  "mental 
jerk"  to  bring  us  to  the  subject  in  hand.  And  when 
brought  back  to  our  thouglit  problem  we  felt  the  con- 
stant "tug"  of  mind  to  be  free  again. 

Normal  Consciousness  Always  in  a  State  of  Attention. — 
But  this  very  effort  of  the  mind  to  free  itself  from  one 
object  of  thought  that  it  may  busy  itself  with  another 
is  because  attenti&n  is  solicited  hy  this  other.  Some  ob- 
ject in  our  field  of  consciousness  is  always  exerting  an 
appeal  for  attention ;  and  to  attend  to  one  thing  is 
always  to  attend  away  from  a  multitude  of  other  things 
upon  which  the  thought  might  rest.  We  may  therefore 
say  that  attention  is  constantly  selecting  in  our  stream 
of  thought  those  aspects  that  are  to  receive  emphasis 
and  consideration.  From  moment  to  moment  it  deter- 
mines the  points  at  which  our  mental  energy  shall  be 
centered. 

2.     THE  EFFECTS  OF  ATTENTION 

Attention  Makes  Its  Object  Clear  and  Definite. — What- 
ever attention  centers  upon  stands  out  sharp  and  clear 
in  consciousness.  Whether  it  be  a  bit  of  memory,  an 
"air-ca.stle,"  a  sensation  from  an  aching  tooth,  the  rea- 
soning on  an  algebraic  formula,  a  choice  which  we  are 
making,  the  setting  of  an  emotion — whatever  be  the  ob- 
ject to  wliich  we  are  attending,  that  object  is  illumined 
and  made  to  stand  out  from  its  fellows  as  the  one 
prominent  thing  in  the  mind's  eye  while  the  attention 
rests  on  it.  It  is  like  the  one  buihling  which  the  search- 
light picks  out  among  a  city  full  of  buildings  and  lights 


ATTENTION  17 

up,  while  the  remainder  are  left  in  the  semilight  or  in 
darkness. 

Attention  Measures  Mental  Efficiency. — In  a  state  of 
attention  the  mind  may  be  likened  to  the  rays  of  the 
sun  which  have  been  passed  through  a  burning  glass. 
You  may  let  all  the  rays  which  can  pass  through  your 
window  pane  fall  hour  after  hour  upon  the  paper  lying 
on  your  desk,  and  no  marked  effects  follow.  But  let 
the  same  amount  of  sunlight  be  passed  through  a  lens 
and  converged  to  a  point  the  size  of  your  pencil  point, 
and  the  paper  will  at  once  burst  into  flame.  What  the 
diffused  rays  could  not  do  in  hours  or  in  ages  is  now 
accomplished  in  seconds.  Likewise  the  mind,  allowed 
to  scatter  over  many  objects,  can  accomplish  but  little. 
We  may  sit  and  dream  away  an  hour  or  a  day  over  a 
page  or  a  problem  without  securing  results.  But  let 
us  call  in  our  wits  from  their  wool-gathering  and  ' '  buckle 
down  to  it"  with  all  our  might,  -withdrawing  our 
thoughts  from  everything  else  but  this  one  thing,  and 
concentrating  our  mind  on  it.  ]\Iore  can  now  be  accom- 
plished in  minutes  than  before  in  hours.  Nay,  things 
which  could  not  be  accomplished  at  all  before  now  be- 
come possible. 

Again,  the  mind  may  be  compared  to  a  steam  engine 
which  is  constructed  to  run  at  a  certain  pressure  of 
steam,  say  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  to  the  square 
inch  of  boiler  surface.  Once  I  ran  such  an  engine ;  and 
well  I  remember  a  morning  during  my  early  apprentice- 
ship when  the  foreman  called  for  power  to  run  some  of 
the  lighter  machinery,  while  my  steam  gauge  registered 
but  seventy-five  pounds.  "Surely,"  I  thought,  "if  one 
hundred  and  fifty  pounds  will  run  all  this  machinery, 
seventy-five  pounds  should  run  half  of  it,"  so  I  opened 
the  valve.    But  the  powerful  engine  could  do  but  little 


18  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

more  than  turn  its  own  wheels,  and  refused  to  do  the 
required  work.  Not  until  the  pressure  had  risen  ahove 
one  hundred  pounds  could  the  engine  perform  half  the 
work  which  it  could  at  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds. 
And  so  with  our  mind.  If  it  is  meant  to  do  its  hest  work 
under  a  certain  degree  of  concentration,  it  cannot  in  a 
given  time  do  half  the  work  with  half  the  attention. 
Further,  there  will  be  much  which  it  cannot  do  at  all 
unless  working  under  full  pressure.  We  shall  not  be 
overstating  the  case  if  we  say  that  as  attention  increases 
in  arithmetical  ratio,  mental  efficiency  increases  in  geo- 
metrical ratio.  It  is  in  large  measure  a  difference  in 
the  power  of  attention  which  makes  one  man  a  master  in 
thought  and  achievement  and  another  his  humble  fol- 
lower. One  often  hears  it  said  that  "genius  is  but  the 
power  of  sustained  attention,"  and  this  statement  pos- 
sesses a  large  element  of  truth. 


3.     HOW  WE  ATTEND 

Someone  has  said  that  if  our  attention  is  properly 
trained  M'e  should  be  able  "to  look  at  the  point  of  a 
cambric  needle  for  half  an  hour  without  winking." 
IJut  this  is  a  false  idea  of  attention.  The  ability  to 
look  at  the  point  of  a  cambric  needle  for  half  an  hour 
might  indicate  a  very  laudable  power  of  concentration; 
but  the  [)rocess,  instead  of  enlightening  us  concerning  the 
point  of  the  needle,  would  result  in  our  passing  into  a 
hypnotic  state.  Voluntary  attention  to  any  one  object 
can  be  sustained  for  but  a  brief  time — a  few  seconds  at 
best.  It  is  essential  that  the  object  change,  that  we 
turn  it  over  and  over  incessantly,  and  consider  its  vari- 
ous aspects  and  relations.  Sustained  voluntary  atten- 
tion is  thus  a  repetition  of  successive  efforts  to  bring 


ATTENTION  19 

back  the  object  to  the  mind.    Then  the  subject  grows  and 
develops — it  is  living,  not  dead. 

Attention  a  Relating  Activity. — ^When  we  are  attend- 
ing strongly  to  one  object  of  thought  it  does  not  mean 
that  consciousness  sits  staring  vacantly  at  this  one  ob- 
ject, but  rather  that  it  uses  it  as  a  central  core  of 
thought,  and  thinks  into  relation  with  this  object  the 
things  which  belong  with  it.  In  working  out  some  mathe- 
matical solution  the  central  core  is  the  principle  upon 


-cry 


Fio.  4 


which  the  solution  is  based,  and  concentration  in  this 
case  consists  in  thinking  the  various  conditions  of  the 
problem  in  relation  to  this  underlying  principle.  In  the 
accompanying  diagram  (Fig.  4)  let  A  be  the  central 
core  of  some  object  of  thought,  say  a  patch  of  cloud  in 
a  picture,  and  let  a,  h,  c,  d,  etc.,  be  the  related  facts, 
or  the  shape,  size,  color,  etc.,  of  the  cloud.  The  arrows 
indicate  the  passing  of  our  thought  from  cloud  to  related 
fact,  or  from  related  fact  to  cloud,  and  from  related  fact 
to  related  fact.  As  long  as  these  related  facts  lead  back 
to  the  cloud  each  time,  that  long  we  are  attending  to 
the  cloud  and  thinking  about  it.  It  is  when  our  thought 
fails  to  go  back  that  we  "wander"  in  our  attention. 
Then  we  leave  a,  h,  c,  d,  etc.,  which  are  related  to  the 
cloud,  and,  flying  off  to  x,  y,  and  z,  finally  bring  up 
heaven  knows  where. 


20  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

The  Rhythms  of  Attention. — Attention  works  in 
rhythms.  This  is  to  say  that  it  never  maintains  a  con- 
stant level  of  concentration  for  any  considerable  length 
of  time,  but  regularly  ebbs  and  flows.  The  explanation 
of  this  rhythmic  action  would  take  us  too  far  afield  at 
this  point.  When  we  remember,  however,  that  our  entire 
organism  works  within  a  great  system  of  rhythms — 
hunger,  thirst,  sleep,  fatigue,  and  many  others — it  is 
easy  to  see  that  the  same  law  may  apply  to  attention. 
The  rhythms  of  attention  vary  greatly,  the  fluctuations 
often  being  only  a  few  seconds  apart  for  certain  simple 
sensations,  and  probably  a  much  greater  distance  apart 
for  the  more  complex  process  of  thinking.  The  seeming 
variation  in  the  sound  of  a  distant  waterfall,  now  loud 
and  now  faint,  is  caused  by  the  rhythm  of  attention  and 
easily  allows  us  to  measure  the  rhythm  for  this  particular 
sensation. 


4.     POINTS  OF  FAILURE  IN  ATTENTION 

Lack  of  Concentration. — There  are  two  chief  types  of 
inattention  whose  danger  threatens  every  person.  First, 
we  may  be  thinking  about  the  right  things,  but  not  think- 
ing hard  enough.  We  lack  mental  pressure.  Outside 
thoughts  which  have  no  relation  to  the  subject  in  hand 
may  not  trouble  us  much,  but  we  do  not  attack  our  prob- 
lem with  vim.  The  current  in  our  stream  of  conscious- 
ness is  moving  too  slowly.  We  do  not  gather  up  all  our 
mental  forces  and  mass  them  on  the  subject  before  us  in 
a  way  that  means  victory.  Our  thoughts  may  be  suf- 
ficinntly  focused,  but  they  fail  to  "set  fire."  It  is  like 
focusing  the  sun's  rays  while  an  eclipse  is  on.  They 
luck  energy.  They  will  not  kindle  the  paper  after  they 
have  passed   through  the  lens.     This  kind  of  attention 


ATTENTION  21 

means  mental  dawdling.  It  means  inefficiency.  For  the 
individual  it  means  defeat  in  life's  battles ;  for  the  nation 
it  means  mediocrity  and  stagnation. 

A  college  professor  said  to  his  faithful  but  poorly 
prepared  class,  "Judging  from  your  worn  and  tired 
appearance,  young  people,  you  are  putting  in  twice  too 
many  hours  on  study."  At  this  commendation  the  class 
brightened  up  visibly.  "But,"  he  continued,  "judging 
from  your  preparation,  you  do  not  study  quite  half  hard 
enough." 

Happy  is  the  student  who,  starting  in  on  his  lesson 
rested  and  fresh,  can  study  with  such  concentration 
that  an  hour  of  steady  application  will  leave  him  men- 
tally exhausted  and  limp.  That  is  one  hour  of  triumph 
for  him,  no  matter  what  else  he  may  have  accomplished 
or  failed  to  accomplish  during  the  time.  He  can  afford 
an  occasional  pause  for  rest,  for  difficulties  will  melt 
rapidly  away  before  him.  He  possesses  one  key  to  suc- 
cessful achievement. 

Mental  Wandering. — Second,  we  may  have  good  men- 
tal power  and  be  able  to  think  hard  and  efficiently  on« 
any  one  point,  but  lack  the  power  to  think  in  a  straight 
line.  Every  stray  thought  that  comes  along  is  a  "will- 
o'-the-wisp"  to  lead  us  away  from  the  subject  in  hand 
and  into  lines  of  thought  not  relating  to  it.  Who  has 
not  started  in  to  think  on  some  problem,  and,  after  a 
few  moments,  been  surprised  to  find  himself  miles  away 
from  the  topic  upon  which  he  started !  Or  who  has  not 
read  down  a  page  and,  turning  to  the  next,  found  that 
he  did  not  know  a  word  on  the  preceding  page,  his 
thoughts  having  wandered  away,  his  eyes  only  going 
through  tlie  process  of  reading!  Instead  of  sticking 
to  the  a,  h,  c,  d,  etc.,  of  our  topic  and  relating  them 
all  up  to  A,  thereby  reaching  a  solution  of  the  problem, 


22  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

we  often  jump  at  once  to  x,  y,  z,  and  find  ourselves  far 
afield  with  all  possibility  of  a  solution  gone.  We  may 
have  brilliant  thoughts  about  x,  y,  z,  but  they  are  not 
related  to  anything  in  particular,  and  so  they  pass  from 
us  and  are  gone — lost  in  oblivion  because  they  are  not 
attached  to  something  permanent. 

Such  a  thinker  is  at  the  mercy  of  circumstances,  fol- 
lowing blindly  the  leadings  of  trains  of  thought  which 
are  his  master  instead  of  his  servant,  and  which  lead 
him  anywhere  or  nowhere  without  let  or  hindrance  from 
him.  His  consciousness  moves  rapidly  enough  and  with 
enough  force,  but  it  is  like  a  ship  without  a  helm.  Start- 
ing for  the  intellectual  port  A  by  way  of  a,  h,  c,  d, 
he  is  mentally  shipwrecked  at  last  on  the  rocks  x,  y,  z, 
and  never  reaches  harbor.  Fortunate  is  he  who  can 
shut  out  intruding  thoughts  and  think  in  a  straight 
line.  Even  with  mediocre  ability  he  may  accomplish 
more  by  his  thinking  than  the  brilliant  thinker  who  is 
constantly  having  his  mental  train  wrecked  by  stray 
thoughts  which  slip  in  on  his  right  of  way. 

5.     TYPES  OF  ATTENTION 

The  Three  Types  of  Attention. — Attention  may  be  se- 
cured in  three  ways:  (1)  It  is  demanded  by  some 
sudden  or  intense  sensory  stimulus  or  insistent  idea, 
or  (2)  it  follows  interest,  or  (3)  it  is  compelled 
by  the  will.  If  it  comes  in  the  first  way,  as  from  a 
thunderclap  or  a  flash  of  light,  or  from  the  persistent 
attempt  of  some  unsought  idea  to  secure  entrance  into 
the  mind,  it  is  called  involuntary  attention.  This  form 
of  attention  is  of  so  little  importance,  comparatively,  in 
our  mental  life  that  we  shall  not  discuss  it  further. 

If  attention  comes  in  the  second  way,  following  in- 


ATTENTION  23 

terest,  it  is  called  nonvoluntary  or  spontaneous  atten- 
tion; if  in  the  third,  compelled  by  the  will,  voluntary 
or  active  attention.  Nonvoluntary  attention  has  its  mo- 
tive in  some  object  external  to  consciousness,  or  else 
follows  a  more  or  less  uncontrolled  current  of  thought 
which  interests  us;  voluntary  attention  is  controlled 
from  within — we  decide  what  we  shall  attend  to  instead 
of  letting  interesting  objects  of  thought  determine  it 
for  us. 

Interest  and  Nonvoluntary  Attention. — In  nonvolun- 
tary attention  the  environment  largely  determines  what 
we  shall  attend  to.  All  that  we  have  to  do  with  directing 
this  kind  of  attention  is  in  developing  certain  lines  of 
interest,  and  then  the  interesting  things  attract  atten- 
tion. The  things  we  see  and  hear  and  touch  and  taste 
and  smell,  the  things  we  like,  the  things  we  do  and 
hope  to  do — these  are  the  determining  factors  in  our 
mental  life  so  long  as  we  are  giving  nonvoluntary  atten- 
tion. Our  attention  follows  the  beckoning  of  these 
things  as  the  needle  the  magnet.  It  is  no  effort  to  attend 
to  them,  but  rather  the  effort  would  be  to  keep  from  at- 
tending to  them.  Who  does  not  remember  reading  a 
story,  perhaps  a  forbidden  one,  so  interesting  that  when 
mother  called  up  the  stairs  for  us  to  come  down  to  attend 
to  some  duty,  we  replied,  "Yes,  in  a  minute,"  and  then 
went  on  reading!  "We  simply  could  not  stop  at  that 
place.  The  minute  lengthens  into  ten,  and  another  call 
startles  us.  "Yes,  I'm  coming;"  we  turn  just  one  more 
leaf,  and  are  lost  again.  At  last  comes  a  third  call  in 
tones  so  imperative  that  it  ^iiannot  be  longer  ignored,  and 
we  lay  the  book  down,  but  open  to  the  place  where  we 
left  off,  and  where  we  hope  soon  to  begin  further  to 
unravel  the  delightful  mystery.  Was  it  an  effort  to 
attend  to  the  reading?     Ah,  no!  it  took  the  combined 


24  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

force  of  our  will  and  of  mother's  authority  to  drag 
the  attention  away.    This  is  nonvoluntary  attention. 

Left  to  itself,  then,  attention  simply  obeys  natural 
laws  and  follows  the  line  of  least  resistance.  By  far 
the  larger  portion  of  our  attention  is  of  this  type. 
Thought  often  runs  on  hour  after  hour  when  we  are 
not  conscious  of  effort  or  struggle  to  compel  us  to 
cease  thinking  about  this  thing  and  begin  thinking  about 
that.  Indeed,  it  may  be  doubted  whether  this  is  not 
the  case  with  some  persons  for  days  at  a  time,  instead 
of  hours.  The  things  that  present  themselves  to  the 
mind  are  the  things  which  occupy  it;  the  character  of 
the  thought  is  determined  by  the  character  of  our  in- 
terests. It  is  this  fact  which  makes  it  vitally  neces- 
sary that  our  interests  shall  be  broad  and  pure  if  our 
thoughts  are  to  be  of  this  type.  It  is  not  enough  that 
we  have  the  strength  to  drive  from  our  minds  a  wrong 
or  impure  thought  which  seeks  entrance.  To  stand 
guard  as  a  policeman  over  our  thoughts  to  see  that  no 
unworthy  one  enters,  requires  too  much  time  and  energy. 
Our  interests  must  be  of  such  a  nature  as  to  lead  us 
away  from  the  field  of  unworthy  thoughts  if  we  are 
to  be  free  from  their  tyranny. 

The  Will  and  Voluntary  Attention. — In  voluntary  at- 
tention there  is  a  conflict  either  between  the  will  and 
interest  or  between  the  will  and  the  mental  inertia 
or  laziness,  which  has  to  be  overcome  before  we  can 
think  with  any  degree  of  concentration.  Interest  says, 
"Follow  this  line,  which  is  easy  and  attractive,  or  which 
requires  but  little  effort — follow  the  line  of  least  re- 
sistance." Will  says,  "Quit  that  line  of  dalliance  and 
ease,  and  take  this  harder  way  which  I  direct — cease 
the  line  of  least  resistance  and  take  the  one  of  greatest 
resistance."    When  day  dreams  and  "castles  in  Spain" 


ATTENTION  25 

attempt  to  hire  you  from  your  lessons,  refuse  to  follow; 
shut  out  these  vagabond  thoughts  and  stick  to  your 
task.  When  intellectual  inertia  deadens  your  thought 
and  clogs  your  mental  stream,  throw  it  off  and  court 
forceful  effort.  If  wrong  or  impure  thoughts  seek  en- 
trance to  your  mind,  close  and  lock  your  mental  doors 
to  them.  If  thoughts  of  desire  try  to  drive  out  thoughts 
of  duty,  be  heroic  and  insist  that  thoughts  of  duty  shall 
have  right  of  way.  In  short,  see  that  you  are  the  master 
of  your  thinking,  and  do  not  let  it  always  be  directed 
without  your  consent  by  influences  outside  of  yourself. 
It  is  just  at  this  point  that  the  strong  will  wins  vic- 
tory and  the  weak  will  breaks  down.  Between  the  abil- 
ity to  control  one's  thoughts  and  the  inability  to  control 
them  lies  all  the  difference  between  right  actions  and 
wrong  actions ;  between  withstanding  temptation  and 
yielding  to  it;  between  an  inefficient  purposeless  life 
and  a  life  of  purpose  and  endeavor ;  between  success  and 
failure.  For  we  act  in  accordance  with  those  things 
which  our  thought  rests  upon.  Suppose  two  lines  of 
thought  represented  by  A  and  B,  respectively,  lie  before 
you;  that  A  leads  to  a  course  of  action  difficult  or  un- 
pleasant, but  necessary  to  success  or  duty,  and  that  B 
leads  to  a  course  of  action  easy  or  pleasant,  but  fatal 
to  success  or  duty.  Which  course  will  you  follow — the 
rugged  path  of  duty  or  the  easier  one  of  pleasure? 
The  answer  depends  almost  wholly,  if  not  entirely,  on 
your  power  of  attention.  If  your  will  is  strong  enough 
to  pull  your  thoughts  away  from  the  fatal  but  attractive 
B  and  hold  them  resolutely  on  the  less  attractive  A, 
then  A  will  dictate  your  course  of  action,  and  you  will 
respond  to  the  call  for  endeavor,  self-denial,  and  duty ; 
but  if  your  thoughts  break  away  from  the  domination 
of  your  will  and  allow  the  beckoning  of  your  interests 


26  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

aloue,  then  B  will  dictate  your  course  of  action,  and 
you  will  follow  the  leading  of  ease  and  pleasure.  For 
our  actions  are  finally  and  irrevocably  dictated  hy  the 
things  we  think  about. 

Not  Really  Different  Kinds  of  Attention. — It  is  not  to 
be  understood,  however,  from  what  has  been  said,  that 
there  are  really  different  kinds  of  attention.  All  atten- 
tion denotes  an  active  or  dynamic  phase  of  conscious- 
ness. The  difference  is  rather  in  the  way  we  secure 
attention;  whether  it  is  demanded  by  sudden  stimulus, 
coaxed  from  us  by  interesting  objects  of  thought  without 
effort  on  our  part,  or  compelled  by  force  of  will  to  desert 
the  more  interesting  and  take  the  direction  which  we 
dictate. 

6.  IMPROVING  THE  POWER  OF  ATTENTION 

While  attention  is  no  doubt  partly  a  natural  gift, 
yet  there  is  probably  no  power  of  the  mind  more  sus- 
ceptible to  training  than  is  attention.  And  with  atten- 
tion, as  with  every  other  power  of  body  and  mind,  the 
secret  of  its  development  lies  in  its  use.  Stated  briefly, 
the  only  way  to  train  attention  is  by  attending.  No 
amount  of  theorizing  or  resolving  can  take  the  place 
of  practice  in  Ibc  actual  process  of  attending. 

Making  Different  Kinds  of  Attention  Reenforce  Each 
Other. — A  very  close  relationship  and  interdependence 
exists  between  nonvoluntary  and  voluntary  attention. 
Tt  would  l)c  inipossible  to  hold  our  attention  by  sheer 
force  of  will  on  objects  which  were  forever  devoid  of 
intere.st;  likewise  the  blind  following  of  our  interests 
and  desires  would  finally  lead  1o  shipwreck  in  all  our 
lives.  Each  kind  of  attention  must  support  and  re- 
enforce  the   other.     The  lessons,   the  sermons,  the  lee- 


ATTENTION  27 

tures,  and  the  books  in  which  we  are  most  interested, 
and  hence  to  which  we  attend  nonvoluntarily  and  with 
the  least  effort  and  fatigne,  are  the  ones  out  of  which, 
other  things  being  equal,  we  get  the  most  and  remember 
the  best  and  longest.  On  the  other  hand,  there  are 
sometimes  lessons  and  lectures  and  books,  and  many- 
things  besides,  which  are  not  intensely  interesting,  but 
which  should  be  attended  to  nevertheless.  It  is  at  this 
point  that  the  will  must  step  in  and  take  command.  If 
it  has  not  the  strength  to  do  this,  it  is  in  so  far  a  weak 
will,  and  steps  should  be  taken  to  develop  it.  We  are 
to  ''keep  the  faculty  of  effort  alive  in  us  hy  a  little 
gratuitous  exercise  every  day."  We  are  to  be  sys- 
tematically heroic  in  the  little  points  of  everyday  life 
and  experience.  We  are  not  to  shrink  from  ta.sks  be- 
cause they  are  difficult  or  unpleasant.  Then,  when 
the  test  comes,  we  shall  not  find  ourselves  unnerved 
and  untrained,  but  shall  be  able  to  stand  in  the  evil 
day. 

The  Habit  of  Attention.— Finally,  one  of  the  chief 
things  in  training  the  attention  is  to  form  the  habit  of 
attending.  This  habit  is  to  be  formed  only  by  attending 
whenever  and  wherever  the  proper  thing  to  do  is  to 
attend,  whether  "in  work,  in  play,  in  making  fishing 
flies,  in  preparing  for  an  examination,  in  courting  a 
sweetheart,  in  reading  a  book."  The  lesson,  or  the 
sermon,  or  the  lecture,  may  not  be  very  interesting; 
but  if  they  are  to  be  attended  to  at  all,  our  rule  should 
be  to  attend  to  them  completeh^  and  absolutely.  Not 
by  fits  and  starts,  now  drifting  away  and  now  jerking 
ourselves  back,  but  all  the  time.  And,  furthermore,  the 
one  who  will  deliberately  do  this  will  often  find  the  dull 
and  uninteresting  task  become  more  interesting;  but  if 
it  never  becomes  interesting,  he  is  at  least  forming  a 


28  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

habit  which  will  bo  invaluable  to  him  through  life.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  one  who  fails  to  attend  except 
when  his  interest  is  captured,  who  never  exerts  effort 
to  compel  attention,  is  forming  a  habit  which  will  be 
the  bane  of  his  thinking  until  his  stream  of  thought 
shall  end. 

7.  PEOBLEMS  IN  OBSERVATION  AND  INTROSPECTION 

1.  Which  fatigues  you  more,  to  give  attention  of  the  non- 
voluntary type,  or  the  voluntary?  Which  can  you  maintain 
longer?  Which  is  the  more  pleasant  and  agreeable  to  give? 
Under  which  can  you  accomplish  more?  What  bearing  have 
these  facts  on  teaching? 

2.  Try  to  follow  for  one  or  two  minutes  the  "wave"  in 
your  consciousness,  and  then  describe  the  course  taken  by 
your  attention. 

3.  Have  you  observed  one  class  alert  in  attention,  and 
another  lifeless  and  inattentive?  Can  you  explain  the  causes 
l3ang  back  of  this  difference?  Estimate  the  relative  amount 
of  work  accomplished  imder  the  two  conditions. 

4.  What  distractions  have  you  observed  in  the  schoolroom 
tending  to  break  up  attention? 

5.  Have  you  seen  pupils  inattentive  from  lack  of  (1) 
change,  (2)  pure  air,  (3)  enthusiasm  on  the  part  of  the 
teacher,  (4)  fatigue,  (5)  ill  health? 

6.  Have  you  noticed  a  difference  in  the  habit  of  attention 
in  different  pupils?  Have  you  noticed  the  same  thing  for 
whole  schools  or  rooms? 

7.  Do  you  know  of  children  too  much  given  to  day- 
dreaming?   Are  you? 

8.  Have  you  seen  a  teacher  rap  the  desk  for  attention? 
What  type  of  attention  was  secured?    Does  it  pay? 

9.  Have  you  obson^ed  any  instance  in  which  pupils'  lack 
of  attention  should  be  blamed  on  the  teacher?  If  so,  what 
was  the  fault?     The  remedy? 


ATTENTION  29 

10.  Visit  a  school  room  or  a  recitation,  and  then  write 
an  account  of  the  types  and  degrees  of  attention  you  observed- 
Try  to  explain  the  factors  responsible  for  any  failures  in 
attention,  and  also  those  responsible  for  the  good  attention 
shown. 


CHAPTER    III 

THE  BRAIN  AND  NERVOUS  SYSTEM 

A  FINE  brain,  or  a  good  mind.  These  terms  are  often 
used  interchangeably,  as  if  they  stood  for  the  same 
thing.  Yet  the  brain  is  material  substance — so  many 
cells  and  fibers,  a  pulpy  protoplasmic  mass  weighing 
some  three  pounds  and  shut  away  from  the  outside  world 
in  a  casket  of  bone.  The  mind  is  a  spiritual  thing — the 
sum  of  the  processes  by  which  we  think  and  feel  and 
will,  mastering  our  world  and  accomplishing  our  des- 
tiny. 

1.  THE  KELATIONS  OF  MIND  AND  BEAIN 

Interaction  of  Mind  and  Brain. — How,  then,  come  these 
two  widely  different  facts,  mind  and  brain,  to  be  so 
related  in  our  speech?  Why  are  the  terms  so  com- 
monly interchanged? — It  is  because  mind  and  brain  are 
so  vitally  related  in  their  processes  and  so  inseparably 
connected  in  their  work.  No  movement  of  our  thought, 
no  bit  of  sensation,  no  memory,  no  feeling,  no  act  of 
decision  but  is  accompanied  by  its  own  particular  activ- 
ity in  the  cells  of  the  brain.  It  is  this  that  the  psychol- 
ogist has  in  mind  when  he  says,  mo  psychosis  without 
its  corrcspondiyig  neurosis.. 

So  far  as  our  present  existence  is  concerned,  then, 
no  mind  ever  works  except  through  some  brain,  and  a 
brain  without  a  mind  becomes  but  a  mass  of  dead  matter, 

30 


THE  BRAIN  AND  NERVOUS  SYSTEM  31 

so  much  clay.  Mind  and  brain  are  perfectly  adapted 
to  each  other.  Nor  is  this  mere  accident.  For  through 
the  ages  of  man's  past  history  each  has  grown  up 
and  developed  into  its  present  state  of  efficiency  by 
working  in  conjunction  with  the  other.  Each  has 
helped  form  the  other  and  determine  its  qualities. 
Not  only  is  this  true  for  the  race  in  its  evolution, 
but  for  every  individual  as  he  passes  from  infancy  to 
maturity. 

The  Brain  as  the  Mind's  Machine. — In  the  first  chapter 
we  saw  that  the  brain  does  not  create  the  mind,  but 
that  the  mind  works  through  the  brain.  No  one  can 
believe  that  the  brain  secretes  mind  as  the  liver  secretes 
bile,  or  that  it  grinds  it  out  as  a  mill  does  flour.  Indeed, 
just  what  their  exact  relation  is  has  not  yet  been  settled. 
Yet  it  is  easy  to  see  that  if  the  mind  must  use  the  brain 
as  a  machine  and  work  through  it,  then  the  mind  must 
be  subject  to  the  limitations  of  its  machine,  or,  in  other 
words,  the  mind  cannot  be  better  than  the  brain  through 
which  it  operates.  A  brain  and  nervous  system  that 
are  poorly  developed  or  insufficiently  nourished  mean 
low  grade  of  efficiency  in  our  mental  processes,  just  as 
a  poorly  constructed  or  wrongly  adjusted  motor  means 
loss  of  power  in  applying  the  electric  current  to  its 
work.  We  will,  then,  look  upon  the  mind  and  the  brain 
as  counterparts  of  each  other,  each  performing  ac- 
tivities which  correspond  to  activities  in  the  other, 
both  inextricably  bound  together  at  least  so  far  as  this 
life  is  concerned,  and  each  getting  its  significance  by 
its  union  with  the  other.  This  view  will  lend  inter- 
est to  a  brief  study  of  the  brain  and  nervous  sys- 
tem. 


32  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

2.     THE  MIND'S  DEPENDENCE  ON  THE  EXTEKNAL 

WOELD 

But  can  we  first  see  how  in  a  general  way  the  brain 
and  nervous  system  are  primarily  related  to  our  think- 
ing? Let  us  go  hack  to  the  beginning  and  consider  the 
babe  when  it  first  opens  its  eyes  on  the  scenes  of  its  new 
existence.  What  is  in  its  mind?  "What  does  it  think 
about?  Nothing.  Imagine,  if  you  can,  a  person  born 
blind  and  deaf,  and  without  the  sense  of  touch,  taste,  or 
smell.  Let  such  a  person  live  on  for  a  year,  for  five 
years,  for  a  lifetime.  What  would  he  know  ?  What  ray 
of  intelligence  would  enter  his  mind?  What  would 
he  think  about  ?  All  would  be  dark  to  his  eyes,  all  silent 
to  his  ears,  all  tasteless  to  his  mouth,  all  odorless  to 
his  nostrils,  all  touchless  to  his  skin.  His  mind  would 
be  a  blank.  He  would  have  no  mind.  He  could  not 
get  started  to  think.  He  could  not  get  started  to  act. 
He  would  belong  to  a  lower  scale  of  life  than  the  tiny 
animal  that  floats  with  the  waves  and  the  tide  in  the 
ocean  without  power  to  direct  its  own  course.  He 
would  be  but  an  inert  mass  of  flesh  without  sense  or 
intelligence. 

The  Mind  at  Birth. — Yet  this  is  the  condition  of  the 
babe  at  birth.  It  is  born  practically  blind  and  deaf, 
witbout  definite  sense  of  taste  or  smell.  Born  without 
anything  to  think  about,  and  no  way  to  get  anything  to 
think  about  until  the  senses  wake  up  and  furnish  some 
material  from  the  outside  world.  Born  with  all  the 
mechanism  of  muscle  and  nerve  ready  to  perform  the 
countless  complex  movements  of  arms  and  legs  and  body 
which  characterize  every  child,  he  could  not  successfully 
start  these  activtitics  without  a  message  from  the  senses 
to  set  them  going.    At  birth  the  child  probably  has  only 


THE  BRAIN  AND  NERVOUS  SYSTEM  33 

the  senses  of  contact  and  temperature  present  with  any 
degree  of  clearness;  taste  soon  follows;  vision  of  an 
imperfect  sort  in  a  few  days;  hearing  about  the  same 
time,  and  smell  a  little  later.  The  senses  are  waking 
up  and  beginning  their  acquaintance  with  the  outside 
world. 

The  Work  of  the  Senses.— And  what  a  problem  the 
senses  have  to  solve!     On  the  one  hand  the  great  uni- 


FiQ.  5. — A  Neurone  from  a  Human  Spinal  Cord.  The  central  por- 
tion represents  the  cell  body.  N,  the  nucleus;  P,  a  pigmented 
or  colored  spot;  D,  a  dendrite,  or  relatively  short  fiber, — which 
branches  freely;  A,  an  axon  or  long  fiber,  which  branches  but 
little. 

verse  of  sights  and  sounds,  of  tastes  and  smells,  of  con- 
tacts and  temperatures,  and  whatever  else  may  belong 
to  the  material  world  in  which  we  live ;  and  on  the 
other  hand  the  little  shapeless  mass  of  gray  and  white 
pulpy  matter  called  the  brain,  incapable  of  sustaining 
its  own  shape,  shut  away  in  the  darkness  of  a  bony 
case  with  no  possibility  of  contact  with  the  outside 
world,  and  possessing  no  means  of  communicating  with 
it  except  through  the  senses.  And  yet  this  universe 
of  external  things  must  be  brought  into  communication 
with  the  seemingly  insignificant  but  really  wonderful 


34  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

brain,  else  the  mind  could  never  be.  Here  we  discover, 
then,  the  two  great  factors  which  first  require  our  study 
if  we  would  understand  the  growth  of  the  mind — the 
maierial  world  without,  and  the  hrain  within.  For  it  is 
the  action  and  interaction  of  these  which  lie  at  the  bottom 
of  the  mind's  development.  Let  us  first  look  a  little 
more  closely  at  the  brain  and  the  accompanying  nervous 
system. 

3.     STRUCTURAL  ELEMENTS  OF  THE  NERVOUS  SYSTEM 

It  will  help  in  understanding  both  the  structure  and 
the  working  of  the  nervous  system  to  keep  in  mind  that 
it  contains  hut  one  fundamental  unit  of  structure.  This 
is  the  neurone.    Just  as  the  house  is  built  up  by  adding 


Fig.  6. — Neurones  ia  different  stages  of  development,  from  a  to  e.  In  a, 
the  elementary  cell  body  alone  is  present;  in  c,  a  dendrite  is  shown 
projecting  upward  and  an  axon  downward. — After  Donaldson. 


brick  upon  brick,  so  brain,  cord,  nerves  and  organs 
of  sense  are  formed  by  the  union  of  numberless 
neurones. 

The  Neurone. — AVhat,  then,  is  a  neurone?     What  is 
its  structure,  its  function,  how  does  it  act?     A  neurone 


THE  BRAIN  AND  NERVOUS  SYSTEM  35 

is  a  protoplasmic  cell,  with  its  outgrowing  fibers.  The 
cell  part  of  the  neurone  is  of  a  variety  of  shapes,  tri- 
angular, pyramidal,  cylindrical,  and  irregular.  The  cells 
vary  in  size  from  1/250  to  1/3500  of  an  inch  in  diameter. 
In  general  the  function  of  the  cell  is  thought  to  be  to 
generate  the  nervous  energy  responsible  for  our  con- 
sciousness— sensation,  memory,  reasoning,  feeling  and  all 
the  rest,  and  for  our  movements.  The  cell  also  provides 
for  the  nutrition  of  the  fibers. 


FiQ.  7. — Longitudinal  (A)  and  transverse  (B)  section  of  nerve  fiber. 
The  heavy  border  represents  the  medullary,  or  enveloping  sheath, 
which  becomes  thicker  in  the  larger  fibers. — After  Donaldson. 


Neurone  Fibers. — The  neurone  fibers  are  of  two  kinds, 
dendrites  and  axo^is.  The  dendrites  are  comparatively 
large  in  diameter,  branch  freely,  like  the  branches  of 
a  tree,  and  extend  but  a  relatively  short  distance  from 
the  parent  cell.  Axons  are  slender,  and  branch  but 
little,  and  then  approximately  at  right  angles.  They 
reach  a  much  greater  distance  from  the  cell  body  than 
the  dendrites.  Neurones  vary  greatly  in  length.  Some 
of  those  found  in  the  spinal  cord  and  brain  are  not  more 
than  1/12  of  an  inch  long,  while  others  which  reach 
from  the  extremities  to  the  cord,  measure  several  feet. 
Both  dendrites  and  axons  are  of  diameter  so  small  as  to 
be  invisible  except  under  the  microscope. 

Neuroglia. — Out  of  this  simple  structural  element,  the 
neurone,  the  entire  nervous  system  is  built.  True,  the 
neurones  are  held  in  place,  and  perhaps  insulated,  by  a 
kind  of  soft  cement  called  neuroglia.  But  this  seems  to 
possess  no  strictly  nervous  function.    The  number  of  the 


36  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

microscopic  neurones  required  to  make  up  the  mass  of 
the  brain,  cord  and  peripheral  nervous  system  is  far 
beyond  our  mental  grasp.  It  is  computed  that  the  brain 
and  cord  contain  some  3,000  millions  of  them. 

Complexity  of  the  Brain. — Something  of  the  complex- 
ity of  the  brain  structure  can  best  be  understood  by  an 
illustration.  Professor  Stratton  estimates  that  if  we 
were  to  make  a  model  of  the  human  brain,  using  for  the 
neurone  fibers  wires  so  small  as  to  be  barely  visible  to 
the  eye,  in  order  to  find  room  for  all  the  wires  the  model 
would  need  to  be  the  size  of  a  city  block  on  the  base  and 
correspondingly  high.  Imagine  a  telephone  system  of 
this  complexity  operating  from  one  switch-board! 

"Gray"  and  "White"  Matter.— The  "gray  matter"  of 
the  brain  and  cord  is  made  up  of  nerve  cells  and  their 
dendrites,  and  the  terminations  of  axons,  which  enter 
from  the  adjoining  white  matter.  A  part  of  the  mass  of 
gray  matter  also  consists  of  the  neuroglia  which  sur- 
rounds the  nerve  cells  and  fibers,  and  a  net-work  of 
blood  vessels.  The  "white  matter"  of  the  central  sys- 
tem consists  chiefly  of  axons  with  their  enveloping  or 
medullary,  sheath  and  neuroglia.  The  white  matter 
contains  no  nerve  cells  or  dendrites.  The  difference  in 
color  of  the  gray  and  the  white  matter  is  caused  chiefly 
by  the  fact  that  in  the  gray  masses  the  medullary  sheath, 
which  is  white,  is  lacking,  thus  revealing  the  ashen  gray 
of  the  nerve  threads.  In  the  white  masses  the  medullary 
sheath  is  present. 

4.     GROSS  STRUCTURE  OF  THE  NERVOUS  SYSTEM 

Divisions  of  the  Nervous  System. — The  nervous  system 
may  be  considered  in  two  divisions:  (1)  The  central 
system,  whicb  consists  of  the  brain  and  spinal  cord,  and 


THE  BRAIN  AND  NERVOUS  SYSTEM  37 

(2)  the  peripheral  system,  which  comprises  the  sensory 
and  motor  neurones  connecting  the  periphery  and  the 
Internal  organs  with  the  central  system  and  the  special- 
ized end-organs  of  the  senses.  The  sympathetic  system, 
which  is  found  as  a  double  chain  of  nerve  connections 
joining  the  roots  of  sensory  and  motor  nerves  just  out- 
side the  spinal  column,  does  not  seem  to  be  directly  re- 
lated to  consciousness  and  so  will  not  be  discussed  here. 
A  brief  description  of  the  nervous  system  will  help  us 
better  to  understand  how  its  parts  all  work  together  in 
so  wonderful  a  way  to  accomplish  their  great  result. 

The  Central  System. — In  the  brain  we  easily  distin- 
guish three  major  divisions — the  cerebrum,  the  cerebel- 
lum and  the  medulla  oblongata.  The  medulla  is  but  the 
enlarged  upper  part  of  the  cord  where  it  connects  with 
the  brain.  It  is  about  an  inch  and  a  quarter  long, 
and  is  composed  of  both  medullated  and  unmeduUated 
fibers — that  is  of  both  "white"  and  "gray"  matter.  In 
the  medulla,  the  unmeduUated  neurones  which  com- 
prise the  center  of  the  cord  are  passing  to  the  outside, 
and  the  medullated  to  the  inside,  thus  taking  the  posi- 
tions they  occupy  in  the  cerebrum.  Here  also  the 
neurones  are  crossing,  or  changing  sides,  so  that  those 
which  pass  up  the  right  side  of  the  cord  finally  connect 
with  the  left  side  of  the  brain,  and  vice  versa. 

The  Cerebellum. — Lying  just  back  of  the  medulla  and 
at  the  rear  part  of  the  base  of  the  cerebrum  is  the  cere- 
bellum, or  ' '  little  brain, ' '  approximately  as  large  as  the 
fist,  and  composed  of  a  complex  arrangement  of  white 
and  gray  matter.  Fibers  from  the  spinal  cord  enter  this 
mass,  and  others  emerge  and  pass  on  into  the  cerebrum, 
while  its  two  halves  also  are  connected  with  each  other 
by  means  of  cross  fibers. 

The  Cerebrum. — The  cerebrum  occupies  all  the  upper 


38 


THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 


part  of  the  skull  from  the  front  to  the  rear.  It  is  divided 
symmetrically  into  two  hemispheres,  the  right  and  the 
left.  These  hemispheres  are  connected  with  each  other 
by  a  small  bridge  of  fibers  called  the  corpus  callosum. 
Each  hemisphere  is  furrowed  and  ridged  with  convolu- 


Fia.  8. — View  of  the  under  side  of  the  brain.     B,  basis  of  the  crura;  P, 
pons;  Mo,  medulla  oblongata;  Ce,  cerebellum;  Sc,  spinal  cord. 


tions,  an  arrangement  which  allows  greater  surface  for 
the  distribution  of  the  gray  cellular  matter  over  it.  Be- 
sides these  irregularities  of  surface,  each  hemisphere 
is  marked  also  by  two  deep  clefts  or  fissures — the  fissure 
of  Rolando,  extending  from  the  middle  upper  part  of 
the  hemisphere  downward  and  forward,  passing  a  little 
in  front  of  the  ear  and  stopping  on  a  level  with  the 
upper  part  of  it;  and  the  fissure  of  Sylvius,  beginning 
at  the  base  of  the  brain  somewhat  in  front  of  the  ear 


THE  BRAIN  AND  NERVOUS  SYSTEM 


39 


and  extending  upward  and  backward  at  an  acute  angle 
with  the  base  of  the  hemisphere. 

The  surface  of  each  hemisphere  may  be  thought  of 
as  mapped  out  into  four  lobes :  The  frontal  lobe,  which 
includes  the  front  part  of  the  hemisphere  and  extends 
back  to  the  fissure  of  Rolando  and  down  to  the  fissure  of 


Fig.  9. — Diagrammatic  side  view  of  brain,  showing  cerebellum  (CB) 
and  medulla  "oblongata  (MO).  F' F"  F'"  are  placed  on  the 
first,  second,  and  third  frontal  f convolutions,  respectively;  AF, 
on  the  ascending  frontal;  AP,  on  the  ascending  parietal;  M,  on  the 
marginal ;  A,  on  the  angular.  T'  T"  T'"  are  placed  on  the  first, 
second,  and  third  temporal  convolutions.  R-R  marks  the  fissure 
of  Rolando;  S-S,  the  fissure  of  Sylvius;  PO,  the  parie to-occipital 
fissure. 


Sylvius ;  the  parietal  lobe,  which  lies  back  of  the  fissure 
of  Rolando  and  above  that  of  Sylvius  and  extends  back 
to  the  occipital  lobe;  the  occipital  lobe,  which  includes 
the  extreme  rear  portion  of  the  hemisphere ;  and  the 
temporal  lobe,  which  lies  below  the  fissure  of  Sylvius  and 
extends  back  to  the  occipital  lobe. 

The  Cortex. — The  gray  matter  of  the  hemispheres,  un- 
like that  of  the  cord,  lies  on  the  surface.  This  gray  ex- 
terior portion  of  the  cerebrum  is  called  the  cortex,  and 


40 


THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 


varies  from  one-twelfth  to  one-eighth  of  an  inch  in  thick- 
ness. The  cortex  is  the  seat  of  all  consciousness  and  of 
the  control  of  voluntary  movement. 

The  Spinal  Cord. — The  spinal  cord  proceeds  from  the 
base  of  the  brain  downward  about  eighteen  inches 
through  a  canal  provided  for  it  in  the  vertebrae  of  the 
spinal  column.    It  is  composed  of  white  matter  on  the 


Fig.  10. — Different  aspects  of  sections  of  the  spinal  cord  and  of  the  root^ 
of  the  spinal  nerves  from  the  cervical  region:  1,  different  views  o* 
anterior  median  fiasure;  2,  posterior  fissure;  3,  anterior  lateral  de- 
pression for  anterior  roots;  4.  posterior  lateral  depression  for  pos- 
terior roots;  6  and  6,  anterior  and  posterior  roots,  respectively; 
7,  complete  spinal  nerve,  formed  by  the  union  of  the  anterior  and 
posterior  roots. 


outside,  and  gray  matter  within.  A  deep  fissure  on  the 
anterior  side  and  another  on  the  posterior  cleave  the 
cord  nearly  in  twain,  resembling  the  brain  in  this  par- 
ticular. The  gray  matter  on  the  interior  is  in  the  form 
of  two  crescents  connected  by  a  narrow  bar. 

The  peripheral  nervous  system  consists  of  thirty-one 
pairs  of  nerves,  with  their  end-organs,  branching  off 
from  the  cord,  and  twelve  pairs  that  have  their  roots  in 
the  brain.  Branches  of  these  forty-three  pairs  of  nerves 
reach  to  every  part  of  the  periphery  of  the  body  and 
to  all  the  internal  organs. 


THE  BRAIN  AND  NERVOUS  SYSTEM  41 

It  will  help  in  understanding  the  peripheral  system 
to  remember  that  a  nerve  consists  of  a  bundle  of  neurone 
fibers  each,  wrapped  in  its  medullary  sheath  and  sheath 
of  Schwann.  Around  this  bundle  of  neurones,  that  is 
around  the  nerve,  is  still  another  wrapping,  silvery- 
white,  called  the  neurilemma.      The   number  of  fibers 


Via.  11. — The  projection  fibers  of  the  brain.     I-IX,  the  first  nine  pairs 

of  cranial  nerves. 

going  to  make  up  a  nerve  varies  from  about  5,000  to 
100,000.  Nerves  can  easily  be  identified  in  a  piece  of 
lean  beef,  or  even  at  the  edge  of  a  serious  gash  in  one's 
own  flesh! 

Bundles  of  sensory  fibers  constituting  a  sensory  nerve 
root  enter  the  spinal  cord  on  the  posterior  side  through 
holes  in  the  vertebrse.  Similar  bundles  of  motor  fibers 
in  the  form  of  a  motor  nerve  root  emerge  from  the  cord 
at  the  same  level.  Soon  after  their  emergence  from  the 
cord,   these  two   nerves  are  wrapped  together  in  the 


42 


THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 


same  sheath  and  proceed  in  this  way  to  the  periphery 
of  the  body,  where  the  sensory  nerve  usually  ends  in  a 
specialized  end-organ  fitted  to  respond  to  some  certain 
stimulus  from  the  outside  world.  The  motor  nerve  ends 
in  minute  filaments  in  the  muscular  organ  which  it  gov- 
erns. Both  sensory  and  motor  nerves  connect  with  fibers 
of  like  kind  in  the  cord  and  these  in  turn  with  the 


Fig.  12. — Schematic    diagram    showing    association    fibers    connecting 
cortical   centers  with  each  other. — After  James  and   S^akr. 


cortex,  thus  giving  every  part  of  the  periphery  direct 
connection  with  the  cortex. 

The  end-organs  of  the  sensory  nerves  are  nerve  masses, 
some  of  them,  as  the  taste  buds  of  the  tongue,  relatively 
simple ;  and  others,  as  the  eye  or  ear,  very  complex. 
They  are  all  alike  in  one  particular;  namely,  that  each 
is  fitted  for  its  own  particular  work  and  can  do  no 
other.  Thus  the  eye  is  the  end-organ  of  sight,  and  is 
a  wonderfully  complex  arrangement  of  nerve  structure 
combined  with  refracting  media,  and  arranged  to  re- 
spond to  the  rapid  ether  waves  of  light.     The  ear  has 


THE  BRAIN  AND  NERVOUS  SYSTEM  43 

for  its  essential  part  the  specialized  endings  of  the  audi- 
tory nerve,  and  is  fitted  to  respond  to  the  waves  car- 
ried to  it  in  the  air,  giving  the  sensation  of  sound.  The 
end-organs  of  touch,  found  in  greatest  perfection  in 
the  finger  tips,  are  of  several  kinds,  all  very  complicated 
in  structure.  And  so  on  with  each  of  the  senses.  Each 
particular  sense  has  some  form  of  end-organ  specially 
adapted  to  respond  to  the  kind  of  stimulus  upon  which 
its  sensation  depends,  and  each  is  insensible  to  the  stim- 
uli of  the  others,  much  as  the  receiver  of  a  telephone  will 
respond  to  the  tones  of  our  voice,  but  not  to  the  touch 
of  our  fingers  as  will  the  telegraph  instrument,  and  vice 
versa.  Thus  the  eye  is  not  affected  by  sounds,  nor  touch 
by  light.  Yet  by  means  of  all  the  senses  together  we 
are  able  to  come  in  contact  with  the  material  world  in 
a  variety  of  ways. 


5.     LOCALIZATION  OF  FUNCTION  IN  THE  NEEVOUS 

SYSTEM 

Division  of  Labor. — Division  of  labor  is  the  law  in  the 
organic  world  as  in  the  industrial.  Animals  of  the  low- 
est type,  such  as  the  amoeba,  do  not  have  separate  organs 
for  respiration,  digestion,  assimilation,  elimination,  etc., 
the  one  tissue  performing  all  of  these  functions.  But  in 
the  higher  forms  each  organ  not  only  has  its  own  specific 
work,  but  even  within  the  same  organ  each  part  has  its 
own  particular  function  assigned.  Thus  we  have  seen 
that  the  two  parts  of  the  neurone  probably  perform 
different  functions,  the  cells  generating  energy  and  the 
fibers  transmitting  it. 

It  will  not  seem  strange,  then,  that  there  is  also  a 
division  of  labor  in  the  cellular  matter  itself  in  the 
nervous  system.  For  example,  the  little  masses  of  ganglia 


44 


THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 


which  are  distributed  at  intervals  along  the  nerves  are 
probably  for  the  purpose  of  reenforcing  the  nerve  cur- 
rent;  much  as  the  battery  cells  in  the  local  telegraph 
office  reenforce  the  current  from  the  central  office.  The 
cellular  matter  in  the  spinal  cord  and  lower  parts  of  the 
brain  has  a  very  important  work  to  perform  in  receiv- 
ing messages  from  the  senses  and  responding  to  them  in 

Ifine  indicates  fissur a 
of  liolando 


{Frontal 
lobe 


Parietal 
lube 


Occipital 
lobe 


Fissurti  of 
Sylvius 


Temporal 
lobe 


FiQ.  13. — Side  view  of  left  hemisphere  of  human  brain,  showing  the 

principal  localized  areas. 


directing  the  simpler  reflex  acts  and  movements  which 
we  learn  to  execute  without  our  consciousness  being 
called  upon,  thus  leaving  the  mind  free  from  these  petty 
things  to  busy  itself  in  higher  ways.  The  cellular  mat- 
ter of  the  cortex  performs  the  highest  functions  of  all, 
for  through  its  activity  we  have  consciousness. 

Tlie  gray  matter  of  the  cerebellmn,  the  medulla,  and 
the  cord  may  receive  impressions  from  the  senses  and 
respond  to  tliem  with  movements,  but  their  response  is 
in  all  cases  wholly  automatic  and  unconscious.    A  person 


THE  BRAIN  AND  NERVOUS  SYSTEM  45 

whose  hemispheres  had  been  injured  in  such  a  way  as  to 
interfere  with  the  activity  of  the  cortex  might  still  con- 
tinue to  perform  most  if  not  all  of  the  habitual  move- 
ments of  his  life,  but  they  would  be  mechanical  and 
not  intelligent.  He  would  lack  all  higher  consciousness. 
It  is  through  the  activity  of  this  thin  covering  of  cel- 
lular matter  of  the  cerebrum,  the  cortex,  that  our  minds 
operate;  here  are  received  stimuli  from  the  different 
senses,  and  here  sensations  are  experienced.  Here  all 
our  movements  which  are  consciously  directed  have  their 
origin.  And  here  all  our  thinking,  feeling,  and  willing 
are  done. 

Division  of  Labor  in  the  Cortex. — ^Nor  does  the  division 
of  labor  in  the  nervous  system  end  with  this  assignment 
of  work.  The  cortex  itself  probably  works  essentially 
as  a  unit,  yet  it  is  through  a  shifting  of  tensions  from 
one  area  to  another  that  it  acts,  now  giving  us  a  sensa- 
tion, now  directing  a  movement,  and  now  thinking  a 
thought  or  feeling  an  emotion.  Localization  of  function 
is  the  rule  here  also.  Certain  areas  of  the  cortex  are 
devoted  chiefly  to  sensations,  others  to  motor  impulses, 
and  others  to  higher  thought  activities,  yet  in  such  a 
way  that  all  work  together  in  perfect  harmony,  each 
reenforcing  the  other  and  making  its  work  significant. 
Thus  the  front  portion  of  the  cortex  seems  to  be  devoted 
to  the  higher  thought  activities;  the  region  on  both 
sides  of  the  fissure  of  Rolando,  to  motor  activities;  and 
the  rear  and  lower  parts  to  sensory  activities;  and  all 
are  bound  together  and  made  to  work  together  by,  the 
association  fibers  of  the  brain. 

In  the  case  of  the  higher  thought  activities,  it  is  not 
probable  that  one  section  of  the  frontal  lobes  of  the 
cortex  is  set  apart  for  thinking,  one  for  feeling,  and 
one  for  willing,  etc.,  but  rather  that  the  whole  frontal 


46  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

part  of  the  cortex  is  concerned  in  each.  In  the  motor 
and  sensory  areas,  however,  the  case  is  different;  for 
here  a  still  further  division  of  labor  occurs.  For  ex- 
ample, in  the  motor  region  one  small  area  seems  con- 
nected with  movements  of  the  head,  one  with  the  arm, 
one  with  the  leg,  one  with  the  face,  and  another  with 
the  organs  of  speech ;  likewise  in  the  sensory  region,  one 
area  is  devoted  to  vision,  one  to  hearing,  one  to  taste 
and  smell,  and  one  to  touch,  etc.  We  must  bear  in 
mind,  however,  that  these  regions  are  not  mapped  out 
as  accurately  as  are  the  boundaries  of  our  states — that 
no  part  of  the  brain  is  restricted  wholly  to  either  sensory 
or  motor  nerves,  and  that  no  part  works  by  itself  inde- 
pendently of  the  rest  of  the  brain.  We  name  a  tract 
from  the  predominance  of  nerves  which  end  there,  or 
from  the  chief  functions  which  the  area  performs.  The 
motor  localization  seems  to  be  the  most  perfect.  Indeed, 
experimentation  on  the  brains  of  monkeys  has  been  suc- 
cessful in  mapping  out  motor  areas  so  accurately  that 
such  small  centers  as  those  connected  with  the  bending 
of  one  particular  leg  or  the  flexing  of  a  thumb  have  been 
located.  Yet  each  area  of  the  cortex  is  so  connected 
with  every  other  area  by  the  millions  of  association 
fibers  that  the  whole  brain  is  capable  of  working  together 
as  a  unit,  thus  unifying  and  harmonizing  our  thoughts, 
emotions,  and  acts. 

6.     FORMS  OF  SENSORY  STIMULI 

Let  us  next  inquire  how  this  mechanism  of  the  nervous 
system  is  acted  upon  in  such  a  way  as  to  give  us  sensa- 
tions. In  order  to  understand  this,  we  must  first  know 
that  all  forms  of  matter  are  composed  of  minute  atoms 
which  are  in  constant  motion,  and  by  imparting  this' 


THE  BRAIN  AND  NERVOUS  SYSTEM 


47 


motion  to  the  air  or  the  ether  which  surrounds  them, 
are  constantly  radiating  energy  in  the  form  of  minute 
waves  throughout  space.  These  waves,  or  radiations, 
are  incredibly  rapid  in  some  instances  and  rather  slow 
in  others.  In  sending  out  its  energy  in  the  form  of 
these  waves,  the  physical  world  is  doing  its  part  to 
permit  us  to  form  its  acquaintance.  The  end-organs 
of  the  sensory  nerves  must  meet  this  advance  half-way, 
and  be  so  constructed  as  to  be  affected  by  the  different 
forms  of  energy  which  are  constantly  beating  upon 
them. 

The  End-organs  and  Their  Response  to  Stimuli. — Thus 
the  radiations  of  ether  from  the  sun,  our  chief  source 
of  light;  are  so  rapid  that  billions  of  them  enter  the  eye 


AComposlfe 

Beam  of 
Ether  waves 


Vibrarions  jUirraRedRays 
of  400     JTonntJerafure 

and  less  J     ^f''""'' 

450  Red 

472  Orange 

526  Yellow 

589  Green 

640  Blue 

722  Indigo 

780  Violet 

Vibrations 
of  800 

and  more  , 


Light  Rays 
Chemical 
stimuli 


Ultra  VioletRayj 
Chemical 
3limuli 


Fig.  14. — The  prism's  analysis  of  a  bundle  of  light  rays.  On  the  right 
are  shown  the  relation  of  vibration  rates  to  temperature  stimuli, 
to  hght  and  to  chemical  stimuh.  The  rates  are  given  in  bilUons 
per  second. — After  Witmek. 

in  a  second  of  time,  and  the  retina  is  of  such  a  nature 
that  its  nerve  cells  are  thrown  into  activity  by  these 
waves;  the  impulse  is  carried  over  the  optic  nerve  to 
the  occipital  lobe  of  the  cortex,  and  the  sensation  of  sight 
is  the  result.     The  different  colors  also,  from  the  red 


48  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

of  the  spectrum  to  the  violet,  are  the  result  of  different 
vibration  rates  in  the  waves  of  ether  which  strike  the 
retina ;  and  in  order  to  perceive  color,  the  retina  must 
be  able  to  respond  to  the  particular  vibration  rate  which 
represents  each  color.  Likewise  in  the  sense  of  touch 
the  end-organs  are  fitted  to  respond  to  very  rapid 
vibrations,  and  it  is  possible  that  the  different  qualities 
of  touch  are  produced  by  different  vibration  rates  in 
the  atoms  of  the  object  we  are  touching.  When  we  reach 
the  ear,  we  have  the  organ  which  responds  to  the  lowest 
vibration  rate  of  all,  for  we  can  detect  a  sound  made 
by  an  object  which  is  vibrating  from  twenty  to  thirty 
times  a  second.  The  highest  vibration  rate  which  will 
affect  the  ear  is  some  forty  thousand  per  second. 
;  Thus  it  is  seen  that  there  are  great  gaps  in  the  different 
rates  to  which  our  senses  are  fitted  to  respond — a  sudden 
drop  from  billions  in  the  case  of  the  eye  to  millions  in 
touch,  and  to  thousands  or  even  tens  in  hearing.  This 
makes  one  wonder  whether  there  are  not  many  things 
in  nature  which  man  has  never  discovered  simply  be- 
cause he  has  not  the  sense  mechanism  enabling  him  to 
become  conscious  of  tlieir  existence.  There  are  undoubt- 
edly "more  things  in  heaven  and  earth  than  are  dreamt 
of  in  our  philosophy." 

Dependence  of  the  Mind  on  the  Senses. — Only  as  the 
senses  bring  in  the  material,  has  the  mind  anything 
with  wliicii  to  build.  Thus  have  the  senses  to  act  as 
messengers  between  the  great  outside  world  and  the 
brain  ;  to  be  the  servants  who  shall  stand  at  the  door- 
ways of  tlie  body — the  eyes,  the  ears,  the  finger  tips — 
each  ready  to  receive  its  particular  kind  of  impulse  from 
nature  and  send  it  along  the  right  path  to  the  part  of 
the  cortex  where  it  belongs,  so  that  the  mind  can  say, 
"A  sight,"  "A  sound,"  or  "A  touch."    Thus  does  the 


THE  BRAIN  AND  NERVOUS  SYSTEM  4Q 

mind  come  to  know  the  universe  of  the  senses.  Thus 
does  it  get  the  material  out  of  which  memory,  imagina- 
tion, and  thought  begin.  Thus  and  only  thus  does  the 
mind  secure  the  crude  material  from  which  the  finished 
superstructure  is  finally  built. 


CHAPTER  IV 

MENTAL  DEVELOPMENT  AND  MOTOR  TRAINING 

Education  was  long  looked  upon  as  affecting  the  mind 
only;  the  body  was  either  left  out  of  account  or  neg- 
lected. Later  science  has  shown,  however,  that  the  mind 
cannot  be  trained  except  as  the  nervous  system  is 
trained  and  developed.  For  not  sensation  and  the  sim- 
pler mental  processes  alone,  but  memory,  imagination, 
judgment,  reasoning  and  every  other  act  of  the  mind 
are  dependent  on  the  nervous  system  finally  for  their 
efficiency.  The  little  child  gets  its  first  mental  experi- 
ences in  connection  with  certain  movements  or  acts  set 
up  reflexly  by  the  pre-organized  nervous  system.  From 
this  time  on  movement  and  idea  are  so  inextricably 
bound  together  that  they  cannot  be  separated.  The 
mind  and  the  brain  are  so  vitally  related  that  it  is 
impossible  to  educate  one  without  performing  a  like 
ofiice  for  the  other ;  and  it  is  likewise  impossible  to 
neglect  the  one  without  causing  the  other  to  suffer  in 
its  development. 

1.     FACTORS  DETERMINING  THE   EFFICIENCY  OF  THE 

NERVOUS  SYSTEM 

Development  and  Nutrition. — Ignoring  the  native  dif- 
ferences in  nervous  systcuns  tlirough  tlie  iniluence  of 
heredity,  the  efticiency  of  a  nervous  system  is  largely 
dependent  on  two  factors:     (1)  The  development  of  the 

60 


MENTAL  DEVELOPMENT  AND  MOTOR  TRAINING    51 

cells  and  fibers  of  which  it  is  composed,  and  (2)  its 
general  tone  of  health  and  vigor.  The  actual  number 
of  cells  in  the  nervous  system  increases  but  little  if  at  all 
after  birth.  Indeed,  it  is  doubtful  whether  Edison's 
brain  and  nervous  system  has  a  greater  number  of 
cells  in  it  than  yours  or  mine.  The  difference  between 
the  brain  of  a  genius  and  that  of  an  ordinary  man  is 
not  in  the  numher  of  cells  which  it  contains,  but  rather 
in  the  development  of  the  cells  and  fibers  which  are 
present,  potentially,  at  least,  in  every  nervous  system. 
The  histologist  tells  us  that  in  the  nervous  system  of 
every  child  there  are  tens  of  thousands  of  cells  which 
are  so  immature  and  undeveloped  that  they  are  use- 
less ;  indeed,  this  is  the  case  to  some  degree  in  every  adult 
person's  nervous  system  as  well.  Thus  each  individual 
has  inherent  in  his  nervous  system  potentialities  of  which 
he  has  never  taken  advantage,  the  utilizing  of  which  may- 
make  him  a  genius  and  the  neglecting  of  which  will  cer- 
tainly leave  him  on  the  plane  of  mediocrity.  The  first 
problem  in  education,  then,  is  to  take  the  unripe  and 
inefficient  nervous  system  and  so  develop  it  in  con- 
nection wdth  the  growing  mind  that  the  possibilities 
which  nature  has  stored  in  it  shall  become  actualities. 
ITiideveloped  Cells. — Professor  Donaldson  tells  us  on 
this  point  that:  "At  birth,  and  for  a  long  time  after, 
many  [nervous]  systems  contain  cell  elements  which  are 
more  or  less  immature,  not  forming  a  functional  part 
of  the  tissue,  and  yet  under  some  conditions  capable 
of  further  development.  .  .  .  For  the  cells  which  are 
continually  appearing  in  the  developing  cortex  no  other 
source  is  known  than  the  nuclei  or  granules  found 
there  in  its  earliest  stages.  These  elements  are  meta- 
morphosed neuroblasts — that  is,  elementary  cells  out  of 
which   the   nervous   matter   is   developed — which   have 


52  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION     , 

shrunken  to  a  volume  less  than  that  which  they  had  at 
first,  and  which  remain  small  until,  in  the  subsequent 
process  of  enlargement  necessary  for  their  full  develop- 
ment, they  expand  into  well-marked  cells.  Elements  in- 
termediate between  these  granules  and  the  fully  devel- 
oped cells  are  always  found,  even  in  mature  brains,  and 
therefore  it  is  inferred  that  the  latter  are  derived  from 
the  former.  The  appearances  there  also  lead  to  the 
conclusion  that  many  elements  which  might  possibly 
develop  in  any  given  case  are  far  beyond  the  number 
that  actually  does  so.  .  .  .  The  possible  number  of  cells 
latent  and  functional  in  the  central  system  is  early  fixed. 
At  any  age  this  number  is  accordingly  represented  by 
the  granules  as  well  as  by  the  cells  which  have  already 
undergone  further  development.  During  growth  the 
proportion  of  developed  cells  increases,  and  sometimes, 
owing  to  the  failure  to  recognize  potential  nerve  cells  in 
the  granules,  the  impression  is  carried  away  that  this 
increase  implies  the  formation  of  new  elements.  As  has 
been  shown,  such  is  not  the  case."^ 

Development  of  Nerve  Fibers. — The  nerve  fibers,  no  less 
than  the  cells,  must  go  through  a  process  of  development. 
It  has  already  been  shown  that  the  fibers  are  the  result 
of  a  branching  of  cells.  At  birth  many  of  the  cells 
have  not  yet  thrown  out  branches,  and  hence  the  fibers 
are  lacking;  while  many  of  those  which  are  already 
grown  out  are  not  sufficiently  developed  to  transmit 
inij)ulses  accurately.  Thus  it  has  been  found  tliat  most 
cliildren  at  birth  are  able  to  support  the  weight  of  the 
body  for  several  seconds  by  clasping  the  fingers  around 
a  small  rod,  but  it  takes  about  a  year  for  the  child 
to  become  able  to  stand.  It  is  evident  that  it  requires 
more  actual  strength  to  cling  to  a  rod  than  to  stand; 

'  DonalrlHon,  "Tlio  Growth  of  ilie  Brain,"  pp.  74,  238. 


MENTAL  DEVELOPMENT  AND  MOTOR  TRAINING   53 

hence  the  conclusion  is  that  the  difference  is  in  the 
earlier  development  of  the  nerve  centers  which  have  to 
do  with  clasping  than  of  those  concerned  in  standing. 
Likewise  the  child's  first  attempts  to  feed  himself  or 
do  any  one  of  the  thousand  little  things  ahout  which 
he  is  so  awkward,  are  partial  failures  not  so  much  be- 
cause he  has  not  had  practice  as  because  his  nervous 
machinery  connected  with  those  movements  is  not  yet 
developed  sufficiently  to  enable  him  to  be  accurate. 
His  brain  is  in  a  condition  which  Flechsig  calls  ''un- 
ripe." How,  then,  shall  the  undeveloped  cells  and  sys- 
tem ripen?  How  shall  the  undeveloped  cells  and  fibers 
grow  to  full  maturity  and  efficiency  ? 


2.  DEVELOPMENT  OF  NERVOUS  SYSTEM  THROUGH 

USE 

Importance  of  Stimulus  and  Response. — Like  all  other 
tissues  of  the  body,  the  nerve  cells  and  fibers  are  de- 
veloped by  judicious  use.  The  sensory  and  association 
centers  require  the  constant  stimulus  of  nerve  currents 
running  in  from  the  various  end-organs,  and  the  motor 
centers  require  the  constant  stimulus  of  currents  run- 
ning from  them  out  to  the  muscles.  In  other  words,  the 
conditions  upon  which  both  motor  and  sensory  develop- 
ment depend  are :  (1)  A  rich  environment  of  sights  and 
sounds  and  tastes  and  smells,  and  everything  else  which 
serves  as  proper  stimulus  to  the  sense  organs,  and  to 
every  form  of  intellectual  and  social  interest;  and  (2) 
no  less  important,  an  opportunity  for  the  freest  and 
most  complete  forms  of  response  and  motor  activity. 

An  illustration  of  the  effects  of  the  lack  of  sensory 
stimuli  on  the  cortex  is  well  shown  in  the  case  of  Laura 
Bridgman,  whose  brain  was  studied  by  Professor  Don- 


54 


THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 


aldson  after  her  death.  Laura  Bridgman  was  born  a 
normal  child,  and  developed  as  other  children  do  up  to 
the  age  of  nearly  three  years.    At  this  time,  through  an 


Leg  t^9 


Fio.  ir). — Rchcmiitic  transverse  section  of  the  human  brain  showing  the 
projection  of  (lie  motor  filxTS,  their  crossiiiR  in  the  neiRhborhood  of 
the  niediilhi,  and  their  tiTniiuation  in  the  dilTeront  anuis  of  localized 
funcliori  in  flu;  cortex.  S,  fissure  of  Sylvius;  M,  the  medulla;  VII,  the 
roots  of  llio  facial  uervca. 


attack  of  scarlet  fover,  she  lost  her  hearing  completely 
and  also  the  sight  of  her  left  eye.  Her  right  eye  was 
NO  badly  ufTectcd  tliat  she  could  see  but  little;  and  it, 
too,  became  entirely  blind  when  she  was  eight.    She  lived 


MENTAL  DEVELOPMENT  AND  MOTOR  TRAINING    55 

in  this  condition  until  she  was  sixty  years  old,  when 
she  died.  Professor  Donaldson  submitted  the  cortex 
of  her  brain  to  a  most  careful  examination,  also  com- 
paring the  corresponding  areas  on  the  two  hemispheres 
with  each  other.  He  found  that  as  a  wliole  the  cortex 
was  thinner  than  in  the  case  of  normal  individuals. 
He  found  also  that  the  cortical  area  connected  with  the 
left  eye — namely,  the  right  occipital  region — was  much 
thinner  than  that  for  the  right  eye,  which  had  retained 
its  sight  longer  than  the  other.  He  says:  "It  is  inter- 
esting to  notice  that  those  parts  of  the  cortex  which, 
according  to  the  current  view,  were  associated  with  the 
defective  sense  organs  were  also  particularly  thin.  The 
cause  of  this  thinness  was  found  to  be  due,  at  least  in 
part,  to  the  small  size  of  the  nerve  cells  there  present. 
Not  only  were  the  large  and  medium-sized  cells  smaller, 
but  the  impression  made  on  the  observer  was  that  they 
were  also  less  numerous  than  in  the  normal  cortex. ' ' 

Effect  of  Sensory  Stimuli. — No  doubt  if  we  could  ex- 
amine the  brain  of  a  person  who  has  grown  up  in  an 
environment  rich  in  stimuli  to  the  eye,  where  nature, 
earth,  and  sky  have  presented  a  changing  panorama  of 
color  and  form  to  attract  the  eye ;  where  all  the  sounds 
of  nature,  from  the  chirp  of  the  insect  to  the  roar  of 
the  waves  and  the  murmur  of  the  breeze,  and  from  the 
softest  tones  of  the  voice  to  the  mightiest  sweep  of  the 
great  orchestra,  have  challenged  the  ear;  where  many 
and  varied  odors  and  perfumes  have  assailed  the  nos- 
trils; where  a  great  range  of  tastes  have  tempted  the 
palate;  where  many  varieties  of  touch  and  temperature 
sensations  have  been  experienced — no  doubt  if  we  could 
examine  such  a  brain  we  should  find  the  sensory  areas 
of  the  cortex  excelling  in  thickness  because  its  cells  were 
well  developed  and  full  sized  from  the  currents  which 


56  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

had  been  pouring  into  them  from  the  outside  world. 
On  the  other  hand,  if  we  could  examine  a  cortex  which 
had  lacked  any  one  of  these  stimuli,  we  should  find  some 
area  in  it  undeveloped  because  of  this  deficiency.  Its 
owner  therefore  possesses  but  the  fraction  of  a  brain, 
and  would  in  a  corresponding  degree  find  his  mind 
incomplete. 

Necessity  for  Motor  Activity. — Likewise  in  the  case  of 
the  motor  areas.  Pity  the  bo}^  or  girl  who  has  been 
deprived  of  the  opportunity  to  use  every  muscle  to  the 
fullest  extent  in  the  unrestricted  plays  and  games  of 
childhood.  For  where  such  activities  are  not  wide  in 
their  scope,  there  some  areas  of  the  cortex  will  remain 
undeveloped,  because  unused,  and  the  person  will  be 
handicapped  later  in  his  life  from  lack  of  skill  in  the 
activities  depending  on  these  centers.  Halleck  says 
in  this  connection :  "If  we  could  examine  the  developing 
motor  region  with  a  microscope  of  sufficient  magnifying 
power,  it  is  conceivable  that  we  might  learn  wherein 
the  modification  due  to  exercise  consists.  We  might 
also,  under  such  conditions,  be  able  to  say,  'This  is  the 
motor  region  of  a  piano  player;  the  modifications  here 
correspond  precisely  to  those  necessary  for  controlling 
such  movements  of  the  hand.'  Or,  'This  is  the  motor 
tract  of  a  blacksmith;  this,  of  an  engraver;  and  these 
must  be  the  cells  which  govern  the  vocal  organs  of  an 
orator.'  "  Whctlicr  or  not  the  microscope  will  ever 
reveal  such  things  to  us,  tliere  is  no  doubt  that  the 
conditions  suggested  exist,  and  that  back  of  every  in- 
efiicient  and  awkward  attempt  at  physical  control  lies  a 
motor  area  with  its  cells  undeveloped  by  use.  No  wonder 
that  our  processes  of  learning  physical  adjustment  and 
control  are  slow,  for  they  are  a  growth  in  the  brain 
rather  than  a  simple  "learning  how." 


MENTAL  DEVELOPMENT  AND  MOTOR  TRAINING    57 

The  training  of  the  nervous  system  consists  finally, 
then,  in  the  development  and  coordination  of  the  neu- 
rones of  which  it  is  composed.  We  have  seen  that  the 
sensory  cells  are  to  be  developed  by  the  sensory  stimuli 
pouring  in  upon  them,  and  the  motor  cells  by  the  motor 
impulses  which  they  send  out  to  the  muscles.  The  sen- 
sory and  the  motor  fibers  likewise,  being  an  outgrowth  of 
their  respective  cells,  find  their  development  in  carrying 
the  impulses  which  result  in  sensation  and  movement. 
Thus  it  is  seen  that  the  neurone  is,  in  its  development  as 
in  its  work,  a  unit. 

Development  of  the  Association  Centersi. — To  this  sim- 
pler type  of  sensory  and  motor  development  which  we 
have  been  considering,  we  must  add  that  which  comes 
from  the  more  complex  mental  processes,  such  as  mem- 
ory, thought,  and  imagination.  For  it  is  in  connection 
with  these  that  the  association  fibers  are  developed, 
and  the  brain  areas  so  connected  that  they  can  work 
together  as  a  unit.  A  simple  illustration  will  enable  us 
to  see  more  clearly  how  the  nervous  mechanism  acts  to 
bring  this  about. 

Suppose  that  I  am  walking  along  a  country  road 
deeply  engaged  in  meditation,  and  that  I  come  to  a 
puddle  of  water  in  my  pathway.  I  may  turn  aside  and 
avoid  the  obstruction  without  my  attention  being  called 
to  it,  and  without  interruption  of  my  train  of  thought. 
The  act  has  been  automatic.  In  this  case  the  nerve  cur- 
rent has  passed  from  the  eye  (S)  over  an  afferent  fiber 
to  a  sensory  center  (s)  in  the  nervous  system  below 
the  cortex ;  from  there  it  has  been  forwarded  to  a  motor 
center  (m)  in  the  same  region,  and  on  out  over  a  motor 
fiber  to  the  proper  muscles  (M),  which  are  to  execute 
the  required  act.  The  act  having  been  completed,  the 
sensory  nerves  connected  with  the  muscles  employed 


58  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

report  the  fact  back  that  the  work  is  done,  thus  com- 
pleting the  circuit.  This  event  may  be  taken  as  an 
illustration  of  literally  thousands  of  acts  which  we  per- 
form daily  without  the  intervention  of  consciousness, 
and  hence  without  involving  the  hemispheres. 

If,  however,  instead  of  avoiding  the  puddle  uneon- 


S6  oM 

FlQ.  16. — Diagram  illustrating  the  paths  of  association. 

sciously,  I  do  so  from  consideration  of  the  danger  of 
wet  feet  and  the  disagreeableness  of  soiled  shoes  and 
the  ridiculous  appearance  I  shall  make,  then  the  current 
cannot  take  the  short  circuit,  but  must  pass  on  up  to 
the  cortex.  Here  it  awakens  consciousness  to  take  notice 
of  the  obstruction,  and  calls  forth  the  images  which 
aid  in  directing  the  necessary  movements.  Tliis  simple 
illustration  may  be  greatly  complicated,  substituting 
for  it  one  of  the  more  complex  problems  which  are 
continually  presenting  themselves  to  us  for  solution,  or 
the  associated  trains  of  thought  tliat  are  constantly 
occupying  our  minds.    But  the  truth  of  the  illustration 


MENTAL  DEVELOPMENT  AND  MOTOR  TRAINING    59 

still  holds.  Whether  in  the  simple  or  the  complex  act, 
there  is  always  a  forward  passing  of  the  nerve  current 
through  the  sensory  and  thought  centers,  and  on  out 
through  the  motor  centers  to  the  organs  which  are  to 
be  concerned  in  the  motor  response. 

The  Factors  Involved  in  a  Simple  Action. — Thus  it  will 
be  seen  that  in  the  simplest  act  which  can  be  considered 
there  are  the  following  factors :  ( 1 )  The  stimulus  which 
acts  on  the  end-organ;  (2)  the  ingoing  current  over  an 
afferent  nerve;  (3)  the  sensory  or  interpreting  cells; 
(4)  the  fibers  connecting  the  sensory  with  a  motor  cen- 
ter; (5)  the  motor  cells;  (6)  the  efferent  nerve  to  carry 
the  direction  for  the  movement  outward  to  the  muscle; 
(7)  the  motor  response;  and,  finally,  (8)  the  report 
back  that  the  act  has  been  performed.  With  this  in 
mind  it  fairly  bewilders  one  to  think  of  the  marvelous 
complexity  of  the  work  that  is  going  on  in  our  nervous 
mechanism  every  moment  of  our  life,  even  without  con- 
sidering the  higher  thought  processes  at  all.  How,  with 
these  added,  the  resulting  complexity  all  works  out  into 
beautiful  harmony  is  indeed  beyond  comprehension. 


3.    EDUCATION   AND    THE    TRAINING   OF    THE 
NERVOUS   SYSTEM 

Fortunately,  many  of  the  best  opportunities  for  sen- 
sory and  motor  training  do  not  depend  on  schools  or 
courses  of  study.  The  world  is  full  of  stimuli  to  our 
senses  and  to  our  social  natures;  and  our  common  lives 
are  made  up  of  the  responses  we  make  to  these  stimuli, 
— the  movements,  acts  and  deeds  by  which  we  fit  our- 
selves into  our  world  of  environment.  Undoubtedly 
the  most  rapid  and  vital  progress  we  make  in  our  devel- 
opment is  accomplished  in  the  years  before  we  have 


60  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

reached  the  age  to  go  to  school.  Yet  it  is  the  business 
of  education  to  see  that  we  do  not  lack  any  essential 
opportunity,  to  make  sure  that  necessary  lines  of  stimuli 
or  of  motor  training  have  not  been  omitted  from  our 
development. 

Education  to  Supply  Opportunities  for  Stimulus  and  Re- 
sponse.— The  great  problem  of  education  is,  on  the  phys- 
ical side,  it  would  seem,  then,  to  provide  for  ourselves 
and  those  we  seek  to  educate  as  rich  an  environment  of 
sensory  and  social  stimuli  as  possible;  one  whose  im- 
pressions will  be  full  of  suggestions  to  response  in  motor 
activity  and  the  higher  thought  processes;  and  then  to 
give  opportunity  for  thought  and  for  expression  in 
acts  and  deeds  in  the  largest  possible  number  of  lines. 
And  added  to  this  must  be  frequent  and  clear  sensory 
and  motor  recall,  a  living  over  again  of  the  sights  and 
sounds  and  odors  and  the  motor  activities  we  have  once 
experienced.  There  must  also  be  the  opportunity  for 
the  forming  of  worthy  plans  and  ideals.  For  in  this 
way  the  brain  centers  which  were  concerned  in  the 
original  sensation  or  thought  or  movement  are  again 
brought  into  exercise,  and  their  development  continued. 
Through  recall  and  imagination  we  are  able  not  only 
greatly  to  multiply  the  effects  of  the  immediate  sensory 
and  motor  stimuli  which  come  to  us,  but  also  to  improve 
our  power  of  thinking  by  getting  a  fund  of  material 
upon  which  the  mind  can  draw. 

Order  of  Development  in  the  Nervous  System. — Nature 
has  set  the  order  in  which  the  powers  of  the  nervous 
system  shall  develop.  And  we  must  follow  this  order 
if  we  would  obtain  the  best  results.  Stated  in  technical 
terms,  the  order  is  from  fundamental  to  accessory.  This 
is  to  say  that  the  nerve  centers  controlling  the  larger 
and  more  general  movements  of  the  body  ripen  first. 


MENTAL  DEVELOPMENT  AND  MOTOR  TRAINING   61 

and  those  governing  the  finer  motor  adjustments  later. 
For  example,  the  larger  body  muscles  of  the  child  which 
are  concerned  with  sitting  up  come  under  control  earlier 
than  those  connected  with  walking.  The  arm  muscles 
develop  control  earlier  than  the  finger  muscles,  and 
the  head  and  neck  muscles  earlier  than  the  eye  muscles. 
So  also  the  more  general  and  less  highly  specialized 
powers  of  the  mind  ripen  sooner  than  the  more  highly 
specialized.  Perception  and  observation  precede  powers 
of  critical  judgment  and  association.  Memory  and 
imagination  ripen  earlier  than  reasoning  and  the  logical 
ability. 

This  all  means  that  our  educational  system  must  be 
planned  to  follow  the  order  of  nature.  Children  of 
the  primary  grades  should  not  be  required  to  write  with 
fine  pencils  or  pens  which  demand  delicate  finger  adjust- 
ments, since  the  brain  centers  for  these  finer  coordina- 
tions are  not  yet  developed.  Young  children  should  not 
be  set  at  work  necessitating  difficult  eye  control,  such 
as  stitching  through  perforated  card-board,  reading  fine 
print  and  the  like,  as  their  eyes  are  not  j^et  ready  for 
such  tasks.  The  more  difficult  analytical  problems  of 
arithmetic  and  relations  of  grammar  should  not  be  re- 
quired of  pupils  at  a  time  when  the  association  areas 
of  the  brain  are  not  yet  ready  for  this  type  of  thinking. 
For  such  methods  violate  the  law  of  nature,  and  the  child 
is  sure  to  suffer  the  penalty. 


4.  IMPORTANCE  OF  HEALTH  AND  VIGOR  OF  THE 
NERVOUS  SYSTEM 

Parallel  with  opportunities  for  proper  stimuli  and 
response  the  nervous  system  must  possess  good  tonicity, 
or  vigor.    This  depends  in  large  degree  on  general  health 


62  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

and  nutrition,  with  freedom  from  overfatigue.  No 
favorableness  of  environment  nor  excellence  of  training 
can  result  in  an  efficient  brain  if  the  nerve  energy  has 
run  low  from  depleted  health,  want  of  proper  nourish- 
ment, or  exhaustion. 

The  Influence  of  Fatigue. — Histologists  find  that  the 
nuclei  of  nerve  cells  are  shrunk  as  much  as  fifty  per 
cent  by  extreme  fatigue.  Reasonable  fatigue  followed 
by  proper  recuperation  is  not  harmful,  but  even  neces- 
sary if  the  best  development  is  to  be  attained ;  but 
fatigue  without  proper  nourishment  and  rest  is  fatal 
to  all  mental  operations,  and  indeed  finally  to  the  nervous 
system  itself,  leaving  it  permanently  in  a  condition  of 
low  tone,  and  incapable  of  rallying  to  strong  effort.  For 
rapid  and  complete  recuperation  the  cells  must  have 
not  only  the  best  of  nourishment  but  opportunity  for 
rest  as  well. 

Extreme  and  long-continued  fatigue  is  hostile  to  the 
development  and  welfare  of  any  nervous  system,  and 
especially  to  that  of  children.  Not  only  does  over- 
fatigue hinder  growth,  but  it  also  results  in  the  forma- 
tion of  certain  toxins,  or  poisons,  in  the  organism,  which 
are  particularly  harmful  to  nervous  tissue.  It  is  these 
fatigue  toxins  that  account  for  many  of  the  nervous  and 
mental  disorders  which  accompany  breakdowns  from 
overwork.  On  the  whole,  the  evil  effects  from  mental 
overstrain  are  more  to  be  feared  than  from  physical 
overstrain. 

The  Effects  of  Worry. — There  is,  perhaps,  no  greater 
foe  to  brain  growl  Ii  and  efficiency  than  the  nervous  and 
worn-out  condition  which  comes  from  loss  of  sleep  or 
from  worry.  Experiments  in  tlie  psychological  labora- 
tories have  shown  that  nerve  cells  shrivel  up  and  lose 
their  vitality  under  loss  of  sleep.     Let  this  go  on  for 


MENTAL  DEVELOPMENT  AND  MOTOR  TRAINING    63 

any  considerable  len^h  of  time,  and  the  loss  is  irrep- 
arable; for  the  cells  can  never  recuperate.  This  is 
especially  true  in  the  case  of  children  or  young  people. 
Many  school  boys  and  girls,  indeed  many  college  students, 
are  making  slow  progress  in  their  studies  not  because 
they  are  mentally  slow  or  inefficient,  not  even  chiefly 
because  they  lose  time  that  should  be  put  on  their 
lessons,  but  because  they  are  incapacitating  their  brains 
for  good  service  through  late  hours  and  the  consequent 
loss  of  sleep.  Add  to  this  condition  that  of  worry,  wliich 
often  accompanies  it  from  the  fact  of  failure  in  lessons, 
and  a  naturally  good  and  well-organized  nervous  system 
is  sure  to  fail.  Worry,  from  whatever  cause,  should  be 
avoided  as  one  would  avoid  poison,  if  we  would  bring 
ourselves  to  the  highest  degree  of  efficiency.  Not  only 
does  worry  temporarily  unfit  the  mind  for  its  best 
work,  but  its  evil  results  are  permanent,  since  the 
mind  is  left  with  a  poorly  developed  or  undone  nervous 
system  through  which  to  work,  even  after  the  cause 
for  worry  has  been  removed  and  the  worry  itself  has 
ceased. 

Not  only  should  each  individual  seek  to  control  the 
causes  of  worry  in  his  own  life,  but  the  home  and  the 
school  should  force  upon  childhood  as  few  causes  for 
worry  as  may  be.  Children's  worry  over  fears  of  the 
dark,  over  sickness  and  death,  over  prospective  but  de- 
layed punishment,  over  the  thousand  and  one  real  or 
imaginary  troubles  of  childhood,  should  be  eliminated 
so  far  as  possible.  School  examinations  that  prey  on 
the  peace  of  mind,  threats  of  failure  of  promotion,  all 
nagging  and  sarcasm,  and  whatever  else  may  cause 
continued  pain  or  worry  to  sensitive  minds  should  be 
barred  from  our  schoolroom  methods  and  practice.  The 
price  we  force  the  child  to  pay  for  results  through  their 


64  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

use  is  too  great  for  them  to  be  tolerated.     "We  must 
seek  a  better  way. 

Tlie  Factors  in  Good  Nutrition. — For  the  best  nutrition 
there  is  necessity  first  of  all  plenty  of  nourishing  and 
healthful  food.  Science  and  experience  have  both  dis- 
proved the  supposition  that  students  should  be  scantily 
fed.  O'Shea  claims  that  many  brain  workers  are  far 
short  of  their  highest  grade  of  efficiency  because  of 
starving  their  brains  from  poor  diet.  And  not  only 
must  the  food  be  of  the  right  quality,  but  the  body  must 
be  in  good  health.  Little  good  to  eat  the  best  of  food 
unless  it  is  being  properly  digested  and  assimilated.  And 
little  good  if  all  the  rest  is  as  it  should  be,  and  the  right 
amount  of  oxidation  does  not  go  on  in  the  brain  so  as 
to  remove  the  wornout  cells  and  make  place  for  new 
ones.  This  warns  us  that  pure  air  and  a  strong  circula- 
tion are  indispensable  to  the  best  working  of  our  brains. 
No  doubt  many  students  who  find  their  work  too  hard 
for  them  might  locate  the  trouble  in  their  stomachs  or 
their  lungs  or  the  food  they  eat,  rather  than  in  their 
minds. 


5.  PROBLEMS  FOR  INTROSPECTION  AND  OBSERVATION 

1.  Estimate  the  mental  progress  made  by  the  child  during 
the  first  five  years  and  compare  with  that  made  during  the 
second  five  years  of  its  life.  To  do  this  make  a  list,  so  far 
as  you  are  able,  of  the  acquisitions  of  each  period.  What  do 
you  conclude  as  to  the  importance  of  play  and  freedom  in 
early  education?  Why  not  continue  this  method  instead  of 
sending  the  child  to  school? 

2.  Wliich  has  the  better  opportunity  for  sensory  training, 
the  city  cliild  or  the  country  child?  For  social  training?  For 
motor  development  through  play?    It  is  said  by  specialists  that 


MENTAL  DEVELOPMENT  AND  MOTOR  TRAINING    65 

country  children  are  not   as  good  players  as  city  children. 
Why  should  this  be  the  ease? 

3.  Obsei've  carefully  some  group  of  children  for  evidences 
of  lack  of  sensory  training  (Interest  in  sensory  objects,  skill 
in  observation,  etc.).  For  lack  of  motor  ti^aining  (Failure  in 
motor  control,  awkwardness,  lack  of  skill  in  play,  etc.).  Do 
you  find  that  general  mental  ability  seems  to  be  correlated 
with  sensoi-y  and  motor  ability,  or  not? 

4.  What  sensory  training  can  be  had  from  (1)  geography, 
(2)  agi'iculture,  (3)  arithmetic,  (4)  drawing?  What  lines  of 
motor  training  ought  the  school  to  afford,  (1)  in  general,  (2) 
for  the  hand,  (3)  in  the  grace  and  poise  of  carriage  or  bear- 
ing, (4)  in  any  other  line?  Make  obsei'vation  tests  of  these 
points  in  one  or  more  school  rooms  and  report  the  results. 

5.  Describe  what  you  think  must  be  the  type  of  mental 
life  of  Helen  Keller.  (Read  "The  World  I  Live  In,"  by  Helen 
Keller.) 

6.  Study  groups  of  children  for  signs  of  deficiency  in 
brain  power  from  lack  of  nutrition.  From  fatigue.  From 
worry.     From  lack  of  sleep. 


CHAPTER  V 

HABIT 

Habit  is  our  "best  friend  or  worst  enemy."  We  are 
"walking  bundles  of  habits."  Habit  is  the  "fly-wheel 
of  society, ' '  keeping  men  patient  and  docile  in  the  hard 
or  disagreeable  lot  which  some  must  fill.  Habit  is  a 
"cable  which  we  cannot  break."  So  say  the  wise  men. 
Let  me  know  your  habits  of  life  and  you  have  revealed 
your  moral  standards  and  conduct.  Let  me  discover 
your  intellectual  habits,  and  I  understand  your  type  of 
mind  and  methods  of  thought.  In  short,  our  lives  are 
largely  a  daily  round  of  activities  dictated  by  our  habits 
in  this  line  or  that.  Most  of  our  movements  and  acts 
are  habitual;  we  think  as  we  have  formed  the  habit  of 
thinking;  we  decide  as  we  are  in  the  habit  of  deciding; 
we  sleep,  or  eat,  or  speak  as  we  have  grown  into  the  habit 
of  doing  these  things;  we  may  even  say  our  prayers  or 
perform  other  religious  exercises  as  matters  of  habit. 
But  while  habit  is  the  veriest  tyrant,  yet  its  good  offices 
far  exceed  the  bad  even  in  the  most  fruitless  or  de- 
praved life. 

1     THE  NATURE  OF  HABIT 

Many  people  when  they  speak  or  think  of  habit  give 
the  term  a  very  narrow  or  limited  meaning.  They  have 
in  mind  only  certain  moral  or  personal  tendencies  usu- 
ally spoken  of  as  one's  "habits."  But  in  order  to  under- 
stand li;il)it  in  any  thorough  and  complete  way  we  must, 

66 


HABIT  67 

as  suggested  by  the  preceding  paragraph,  broaden  our 
concept  to  include  every  possible  line  of  physical  and 
mental  activity.  Habit  may  be  defined  as  the  tendency 
of  the  nervous  system  to  repeat  any  act  that  has  been 
performed  once  or  many  times. 

The  Physical  Basis  of  Habit. — Habit  is  to  be  explained 
from  the  standpoint  of  its  physical  basis.  Habits  are 
formed  because  the  tissues  of  our  brains  are  capable  of 
being  modified  by  use,  and  of  so  retaining  the  effects 
of  this  modification  that  the  same  act  is  easier  of  per- 
formance each  succeeding  time.  This  results  in  the  old 
act  being  repeated  instead  of  a  new  one  being  selected, 
and  hence  the  old  act  is  perpetuated. 

Even  dead  and  inert  matter  obeys  the  same  principles 
in  this  regard  as  does  living  matter.  Says  M.  Leon 
Dumont:  "Everyone  knows  how  a  garment,  having 
been  worn  a  certain  time,  clings  to  the  shape  of  the 
body  better  than  when  it  was  new;  there  has  been  a 
change  in  the  tissue,  and  this  change  is  a  new  habit  of 
cohesion;  a  lock  works  better  after  having  been  used 
some  time;  at  the  outset  more  force  was  required  to 
overcome  certain  roughness  in  the  mechanism.  The 
overcoming  of  this  resistance  is  a  phenomenon  of  habit- 
uation. It  costs  less  trouble  to  fold  a  paper  when  it 
has  been  folded  already.  This  saving  of  trouble  is  due 
to  the  essential  nature  of  habit,  which  brings  it  about 
that,  to  reproduce  the  effect,  a  less  amount  of  the  out- 
ward cause  is  required.  The  sounds  of  a  violin  improve 
by  use  in  the  hands  of  an  able  artist,  because  the  fibers 
of  the  wood  at  last  contract  habits  of  vibration  con- 
formed to  harmonic  relations.  This  is  what  gives  such 
inestimable  value  to  instruments  that  have  belonged 
to  great  masters.  Water,  in  flowing,  hollows  out  for 
itself  a  channel,  which  grows  broader  and  deeper;  and, 


68  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

after  having  ceased  to  flow,  it  resumes  when  it  flows 
again  the  path  traced  for  itself  before.  Just  so,  the 
impressions  of  outer  objects  fashion  for  themselves  in 
the  nervous  system  more  and  more  appropriate  paths, 
and  these  vital  phenomena  recur  under  similar  excite- 
ments from  without,  when  they  have  been  interrupted 
for  a  certain  time."^ 

All  Living  Tissue  Plastic. — What  is  true  of  inanimate 
matter  is  doubly  true  of  living  tissue.  The  tissues  of 
the  human  body  can  be  molded  into  almost  any  form 
you  choose  if  taken  in  time.  A  child  may  be  placed  on 
his  feet  at  too  early  an  age,  and  the  bones  of  his  legs 
form  the  habit  of  remaining  bent.  The  Flathead  Indian 
binds  a  board  on  the  skull  of  his  child,  and  its  head 
forms  the  habit  of  remaining  flat  on  the  top.  Wrong 
bodily  postures  produce  curvature  of  the  spine,  and 
pernicious  modes  of  dress  deform  the  bones  of  the  chest. 
The  muscles  may  be  trained  into  the  habit  of  keeping 
the  shoulders  straight  or  letting  them  droop ;  those  of 
the  back,  to  keep  the  body  well  up  on  the  hips,  or  to 
let  it  sag ;  those  of  locomotion,  to  give  us  a  light,  springy 
step,  or  to  allow  a  shuffling  carriage ;  those  of  speech,  to 
give  us  a  clear-cut,  accurate  articulation,  or  a  careless, 
halting  one ;  and  those  of  the  face,  to  give  us  a  cheerful 
cast  of  countenance,  or  a  glum  and  morose  expression. 

Habit  a  Modification  of  Brain  Tissue. — But  the  nervous 
tissue  is  the  most  sensitive  and  easily  molded  of  all  bod- 
ily tissues.  In  fact,  it  is  probable  that  the  real  hahit 
of  our  characteristic  walk,  gesture,  or  speech  resides 
in  the  brain,  rather  than  in  the  muscles  which  it  con- 
trols. So  delicate  is  the  organization  of  the  brain  struc- 
ture and  so  unstable  its  molecules,  that  even  the  perfume 
of  the  (lower,  which  assails  the  nose  of  a  child,  the  song 

*  Quoted  by  James,  * '  Psychology, ' '  Briefer  Course,  p.  135. 


HABIT  69 

of  a  bird,  which  strikes  his  ear,  or  the  fleeting  dream, 
which  lingers  but  for  a  second  in  his  sleep,  has  so  modi- 
fied his  brain  that  it  will  never  again  be  as  if  these 
things  had  not  been  experienced.  Every  sensory  cur- 
rent which  runs  in  from  the  outside  world ;  every  motor 
current  which  runs  out  to  command  a  muscle ;  every 
thought  that  we  think,  has  so  modified  the  nerve  struc- 
ture through  which  it  acts,  that  a  tendency  remains  for 
a  like  act  to  be  repeated.  Our  brain  and  nervous  system 
is  daily  being  molded  into  fixed  habits  of  acting  by  our 
thoughts  and  deeds,  and  thus  becomes  the  automatic 
register  of  all  we  do. 

The  old  Chinese  fairy  story  hits  upon  a  fundamental 
and  vital  truth.  These  celestials  tell  their  children  that 
each  chUd  is  accompanied  by  day  and  by  night,  every  mo- 
ment of  his  life,  by  an  invisible  fairy,  who  is  provided 
with  a  pencil  and  tablet.  It  is  the  duty  of  this  fairy 
to  put  down  every  deed  of  the  child,  both  good  and  evil, 
in  an  indelible  record  which  will  one  day  rise  as  a  wit- 
ness against  him.  So  it  is  in  very  truth  with  our  brains. 
The  wrong  act  may  have  been  performed  in  secret,  no 
living  being  may  ever  know  that  we  performed  it,  and 
a  merciful  Providence  may  forgive  it ;  but  the  inexorable 
monitor  of  our  deeds  was  all  the  time  beside  us  writing 
the  record,  and  the  history  of  that  act  is  inscribed  for- 
ever in  the  tissues  of  our  brain.  It  may  be  repented 
of  bitterly  in  sackcloth  and  ashes  and  be  discontinued, 
but  its  effects  can  never  be  quite  effaced;  they  will  re- 
main with  us  a  handicap  till  our  dying  day,  and  in  some 
critical  moment  in  a  great  emergency  we  shall  be  in  dan- 
ger of  defeat  from  that  long  past  and  forgotten  act. 

We  Must  Form  Habits. — We  must,  then,  form  habits. 
It  is  not  at  all  in  our  power  to  say  whether  we  will  form 
habits  or  not;  for,  once  started,  they  go  on  forming 


70  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

themselves  by  day  and  night,  steadily  and  relentlessly. 
Habit  is,  therefore,  one  of  the  great  factors  to  be  reck- 
oned with  in  our  lives,  and  the  question  becomes  not. 
Shall  we  form  habits?  but  What  hahits  we  shall  form. 
And  we  have  the  determining  of  this  question  largely 
in  our  o^m  power,  for  habits  do  not  just  happen,  nor 
do  they  come  to  us  ready  made.  We  ourselves  make 
them  from  day  to  day  through  the  acts  we  perform,  and 
in  so  far  as  we  have  control  over  our  acts,  in  that  far 
we  can  determine  our  habits. 


2.    THE   PLACE    OF   HABIT    IN    THE    ECONOMY   OF    OUR 

LIVES 

Habit  is  one  of  nature's  methods  of  economizing  time 
and  effort,  while  at  the  same  time  securing  greater  skill 
and  efficiency.  This  is  easily  seen  when  it  is  remembered 
that  habit  tends  towards  automatic  action;  that  is,  to- 
wards action  governed  by  the  lower  nerve  centers  and 
taking  care  of  itself,  so  to  speak,  without  the  inter- 
ference of  consciousness.  Everyone  has  observed  how 
much  easier  in  the  performance  and  more  skillful  in  its 
execution  is  the  act,  be  it  playing  a  piano,  painting  a  pic- 
ture, or  driving  a  nail,  when  the  movements  involved 
have  ceased  to  be  consciously  directed  and  become  au- 
tomatic. 

Habit  Increases  Skill  and  Efficiency. — Practically  all 
increase  in  skill,  whether  physical  or  mental,  depends 
on  our  ability  to  form  habits.  Habit  holds  fast  to  the 
skill  already  attained  while  practice  or  intelligence 
makes  ready  for  the  next  step  in  advance.  Could  we 
not  form  habits  we  should  improve  but  little  in  our  way 
of  doing  tilings,  no  matter  how  many  times  we  did  them 
over.    We  should  now  be  obliged  to  go  through  the  same 


HABIT  71 

bungling  process  of  dressing  ourselves  as  when  we  first 
learned  it  as  children.  Our  writing  would  proceed  as 
awkwardly  in  the  high  school  as  the  primary,  our  eating 
as  adults  would  be  as  messy  and  wide  of  the  mark  as 
when  we  were  infants,  and  we  should  miss  in  a  thousand 
ways  the  motor  skill  that  now  seems  so  easy  and  natural. 
All  highly  skilled  occupations,  and  those  demanding 
great  manual  dexterity,  likewise  depend  on  our  habit- 
forming  power  for  the  accurate  and  automatic  move- 
ments required. 

So  with  mental  skill.  A  great  portion  of  the  funda- 
mentals of  our  education  must  be  made  automatic — must 
become  matters  of  habit.  We  set  out  to  learn  the  sym- 
bols of  speech.  We  hear  words  and  see  them  on  the 
printed  page ;  associated  with  these  words  are  meanings, 
or  ideas.  Habit  binds  the  word  and  the  idea  together, 
so  that  to  think  of  the  one  is  to  call  up  the  other — and 
language  is  learned.  We  must  learn  numbers,  so  we 
practice  the  ''combinations,"  and  with  4X6,  or  3X8  we 
associate  24.  Habit  secures  this  association  in  our  minds, 
and  lo !  we  soon  know  our  ' '  tables. ' '  And  so  on  through- 
out the  whole  range  of  our  learning.  We  learn  certain 
symbols,  or  facts,  or  processes,  and  habit  takes  hold 
and  renders  these  automatic  so  that  we  can  use  them 
freely,  easily,  and  with  skill,  leaving  our  thought  free 
for  matters  that  cannot  be  made  automatic.  One  of  our 
greatest  dangers  is  that  we  shall  not  make  sufficiently 
automatic,  enough  of  the  necessary  foundation  material 
of  education.  Failing  in  this,  we  shall  at  best  be  but 
blunderers  intellectually,  handicapped  because  we  failed 
to  make  proper  use  of  habit  in  our  development. 

For,  as  we  have  seen  in  an  earlier  chapter,  there  is  a 
limit  to  our  mental  energj^  and  also  to  the  number  of 
objects  to  which  we  are  able  to  attend.    It  is  only  when 


72  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

attention  has  been  freed  from  the  many  things  that  can 
always  be  thought  or  done  in  the  same  way,  that  the 
mind  can  devote  itself  to  the  real  problems  that  require 
judgment,  imagination  or  reasoning.  The  wi'iter  whose 
spelling  and  punctuation  do  not  take  care  of  themselves 
will  hardly  make  a  success  of  writing.  The  mathema- 
tician whose  number  combinations,  processes  and  for- 
mulae are  not  automatic  in  his  mind  can  never  hope 
to  make  progress  in  mathematical  thinking.  The  speaker 
who,  while  speaking,  has  to  think  of  his  gestures,  his 
voice  or  his  enunciation  will  never  sway  audiences  by 
his  logic  or  his  eloquence. 

Habit  Saves  Effort  and  Fatigue. — "We  do  most  easily 
and  with  least  fatigue  that  which  we  are  accustomed 
to  do.  It  is  the  new  act  or  the  strange  task  that  tires 
us.  The  horse  that  is  used  to  the  farm  wearies  if  put 
on  the  road,  while  the  roadster  tires  easily  when  hitched 
to  the  plow.  The  experienced  penman  works  all  day  at 
his  desk  without  undue  fatigue,  while  the  man  more 
accustomed  to  the  pick  and  the  shovel  than  to  the  pen, 
is  exhausted  by  a  half  hour's  writing  at  a  letter.  Those 
who  follow  a  sedentary  and  inactive  occupation  do  not 
tire  by  much  sitting,  while  children  or  others  used  to 
freedom  and  action  may  find  it  a  wearisome  task  merely 
to  remain  still  for  an  hour  or  two. 

Not  only  would  the  skill  and  speed  demanded  by  mod- 
ern industry  be  impossible  without  the  aid  of  habit, 
but  without  its  help  none  could  stand  the  fatigue  and 
strain.  The  new  workman  placed  at  a  high-speed  ma- 
chine is  ready  to  fall  from  weariness  at  the  end  of  his 
first  day.  But  little  by  little  he  learns  to  omit  the  un- 
necessary movements,  the  necessary  movements  become 
easier  and  more  automatic  through  habit,  and  he  finds 
the  work  easier.    We  may  conclude,  then,  that  not  only 


HABIT  73 

do  consciously  directed  movements  show  less  skill  than 
the  same  movements  made  automatic  by  habit,  but  they 
also  require  more  effort  and  produce  greater  fatigue. 

Habit  Economizes  Moral  Effort. — To  have  to  decide 
each  time  the  question  comes  up  whether  we  will  attend 
to  this  lecture  or  sermon  or  lesson ;  whether  we  will  per- 
severe and  go  through  this  piece  of  disagreeable  work 
which  we  have  begun ;  whether  we  will  go  to  the  trouble 
of  being  courteous  and  kind  to  this  or  that  poor  or  un- 
lovely or  dirty  fellow-mortal ;  whether  we  will  take  this 
road  because  it  looks  easy,  or  that  one  because  we  know 
it  to  be  the  one  we  ought  to  take ;  whether  we  will  be 
strictly  fair  and  honest  when  we  might  just  as  well  be 
the  opposite  ;  whether  we  will  resist  the  temptation  which 
dares  us;  whether  we  will  do  this  duty,  hard  though 
it  is,  which  confronts  us — to  have  to  decide  each  of 
these  questions  every  time  it  presents  itself  is  to  put 
too  large  a  proportion  of  our  thought  and  energy  on 
things  which  should  take  care  of  themselves.  For  all 
these  things  should  early  become  so  nearly  habitual  that 
they  can  be  settled  with  the  very  minimum  of  expendi- 
ture of  energy  when  they  arise. 

The  Habit  of  Attention.- — It  is  a  noble  thing  to  be  able 
to  attend  by  sheer  force  of  will  when  the  interest  lags, 
or  some  more  attractive  thing  appears,  but  far  better 
is  it  so  to  have  formed  the  habit  of  attention  that  we  nat- 
urally fall  into  that  attitude  when  this  is  the  desirable 
thing.  To  understand  what  I  mean,  you  only  have  to 
look  over  a  class  or  an  audience  and  note  the  different 
ways  which  people  have  of  finally  settling  down  to  listen- 
ing. Some  with  an  attitude  which  says, ' '  Now  here  I  am, 
ready  to  listen  to  you  if  you  will  interest  me,  otherwise 
not."  Others  with  a  manner  which  says,  "I  did  not 
really  come  here  expecting  to  listen,  and  you  will  have 


74  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

a  large  task  if  you  interest  me;  I  never  listen  unless  I 
am  compelled  to,  and  the  responsibility  rests  on  you." 
Others  plainly  say,  "I  really  mean  to  listen,  but  I  have 
hard  work  to  control  ray  thoughts,  and  if  I  wander  I 
shall  not  blame  you  altogether ;  it  is  just  my  way."  And 
still  others  say,  "When  I  am  expected  to  listen.  I  always 
listen  whether  there  is  anything  much  to  listen  to  or 
not.  I  have  formed  that  habit,  and  so  have  no  quarrel 
M'ith  myself  about  it.  You  can  depend  on  me  to  be 
attentive,  for  I  cannot  afford  to  weaken  my  habit  of  at- 
tention  whether  you  do  well  or  not."  Eveiy  speakei 
will  clasp  these  last  listeners  to  his  heart  and  feed  them 
on  the  choicest  thoughts  of  his  soul ;  they  are  the  ones  to 
whom  he  speaks  and  to  whom  his  address  will  appeal. 

Habit  Enables  Us  to  Meet  the  Disagreeable. — To  be 
able  to  persevere  in  the  face  of  difficulties  and  hard- 
ships and  carry  through  the  disagreeable  thing  in  spite 
of  the  protests  of  our  natures  against  the  sacrifice  which 
it  requires,  is  a  creditable  thing;  but  it  is  more  credit- 
able to  have  so  formed  the  habit  of  perseverance  that 
the  disagreeable  duty  shall  be  done  without  a  struggle, 
or  protest,  or  question.  Horace  Mann  testifies  of  him- 
self that  what<'ver  success  he  was  able  to  attain  was 
made  possible  through  the  early  habit  which  he 
formed  of  never  stopping  to  iiuiuire  whether  he  liked 
to  do  a  thing  whidi  needed  doing,  but  of  doing  every- 
thing efjually  well  and  without  question,  both  the  pleas- 
ant and  the  unplcfLsant. 

The  youth  who  can  fight  out  a  moral  battle  and  win 
against  tlui  allurements  of  .some  attractive  temptation 
is  worthy  IIk;  highest  lionor  and  praise;  but  so  long  as 
he  has  to  light  the  same  batth;  over  and  over  again,  he  is 
on  dangerous  ground  morally.  For  good  morals  must 
finally  become  habits,  so  ingrained  in  us  that  the  right 


HABIT  75 

decision  comes  largely  without  effort  and  without  strug- 
gle. Otherwise  the  strain  is  too  great,  and  defeat  will 
occasionally  come;  and  defeat  means  weakness  and  at 
last  disaster,  after  the  spirit  has  tired  of  the  constant 
conflict.  And  so  on  in  a  hundred  lines.  Good  habits 
are  more  to  be  coveted  than  individual  victories  in  spe- 
cial cases,  much  as  these  are  to  be  desired.  For  good 
habits  mean  victories  all  along  the  line. 

Habit  the  Foundation  of  Personality. — The  biologist 
tells  us  that  it  is  the  constant  and  not  the  occasional 
in  the  environment  that  impresses  itself  on  an  organism. 
So  also  it  is  the  hahitiuil  in  our  lives  that  builds  itself 
into  our  character  and  personality.  In  a  very  real  sense 
we  are  what  we  are  in  the  habit  of  doing  and  thinking. 

Without  habit,  personality  could  not  exist;  for  we 
could  never  do  a  thing  twice  alike,  and  hence  would 
be  a  new  person  each  succeeding  moment.  The  acts 
which  give  us  our  own  peculiar  individuality  are  our 
habitual  acts — the  little  things  that  do  tliemselves  mo- 
ment by  moment  without  care  or  attention,  and  are  the 
tiniest  and  best  expression  of  our  real  selves.  Probably 
no  one  of  us  could  be  very  sure  which  arm  he  puts  into 
the  sleeve,  or  which  foot  he  puts  into  the  shoe,  first ;  and 
yet  each  of  us  certainly  formed  the  habit  long  ago 
of  doing  these  things  in  a  certain  way.  We  might  not 
be  able  to  describe  just  how  we  hold  knife  and  fork 
and  spoon,  and  yet  each  has  his  own  characteristic  and 
habitual  way  of  handling  them.  We  sit  down  and  get 
up  in  some  characteristic  wa.y,  and  the  very  poise  of  our 
heads  and  attitudes  of  our  bodies  are  the  result  of  habit. 
We  get  sleepy  and  wake  up,  become  hungry  and  thirsty 
at  certain  hours,  through  force  of  liabit.  We  form 
the  habit  of  lilting  a  certain  chair,  or  nook,  or  corner, 
or  path,  or  desk,  and  then  seek  this  to  the  exclusion 


76  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

of  all  others.  We  habitually  use  a  particular  pitch  of 
voice  and  t^ije  of  enunciation  in  speaking,  and  this  be- 
comes one  of  our  characteristic  marks ;  or  we  form  the 
habit  of  using  barbarisms  or  solecisms  of  language  in 
youth,  and  these  cling  to  us  and  become  an  inseparable 
part  of  us  later  in  life. 

On  the  mental  side  the  case  is  no  different.  Our 
thinking  is  as  characteristic  as  our  physical  acts.  We 
may  form  the  habit  of  thinking  things  out  logically,  or 
of  jumping  to  conclusions ;  of  thinking  critically  and  in- 
dependently, or  of  taking  things  unquestioningly  on  the 
authority  of  others.  We  may  form  the  habit  of  care- 
fully reading  good,  sensible  books,  or  of  skimming  sen- 
timental and  trashy  ones;  of  choosing  elevating,  en- 
nobling companions,  or  the  opposite ;  of  being  a  good 
conversationalist  and  doing  our  part  in  a  social  group, 
or  of  being  a  drag  on  the  conversation,  and  needing  to 
be  "entertained."  We  may  form  the  habit  of  observ- 
ing the  things  about  us  and  enjoying  the  beauti- 
ful in  our  environment,  or  of  failing  to  observe  or 
to  enjoy.  We  may  form  the  habit  of  obeying  the 
voice  of  conscience  or  of  weakly  yielding  to  tempta- 
tion without  a  struggle;  of  taking  a  reverent  attitude 
of  prayer  in  our  devotions,  or  of  merely  saying  our 
prayers. 

Habit  Saves  Worry  and  Rebellion. — Habit  has  been 
calk'd  tile  "balance  wheel"  of  society.  This  is  because 
men  readily  become  habituated  to  the  hard,  the  dis- 
agreeable, or  the  inevitable,  and  cease  to  battle  against 
it.  A  lot  that  at  first  seems  unendurable  after  a  time 
causes  less  revolt.  A  sorrow  that  seems  too  poignant 
to  be  borne  in  the  course  of  time  loses  some  of  its  sharp- 
ness. Oppression  or  injustice  that  arouses  the  fiercest 
resentment  and  hate  may  finally  come  to  be  accepted 


HABIT  77 

with  resignation.    Habit  helps  us  learn  that  ' '  what  can- 
not be  cured  must  be  endured." 


3.    THE  TYEANNY  OF  HABIT 

Even  Good  Habits  Need  to  Be  Modified. — But  even  in 
good  habits  there  is  danger.  Habit  is  the  opposite  of 
attention.  Habit  relieves  attention  of  unnecessary- 
strain.  Every  habitual  act  was  at  one  time,  either  in 
the  history  of  the  race  or  of  the  individual,  a  voluntary 
act;  that  is,  it  was  performed  under  active  attention. 
As  the  habit  grew,  attention  was  gradually  rendered 
unnecessary,  until  finally  it  dropped  entirely  out.  And 
herein  lies  the  danger.  Habit  once  formed  has  no  way 
of  being  modified  unless  in  some  way  attention  is  called 
to  it,  for  a  habit  left  to  itself  becomes  more  and  more 
firmly  fixed.  The  rut  grows  deeper.  In  very  few,  if 
any,  of  our  actions  can  we  afford  to  have  this  the  case. 
Our  habits  need  to  be  progressive,  they  need  to  grow, 
to  be  modified,  to  be  improved.  Otherwise  they  will 
become  an  incrusting  shell,  fixed  and  unyielding,  which 
will  limit  our  growth. 

It  is  necessary,  then,  to  keep  our  habitual  acts  under 
some  surveillance  of  attention,  to  pass  them  in  review 
for  inspection  every  now  and  then,  that  we  may  discover 
possible  modifications  which  will  make  them  more  serv- 
iceable. We  need  to  be  inventive,  constantly  to  find  out 
better  ways  of  doing  things.  Habit  takes  care  of  our 
standing,  M^alking,  sitting;  but  how  many  of  us  could 
not  improve  his  poise  and  carriage  if  he  would?  Our 
speech  has  become  largely  automatic,  but  no  doubt  all  of 
us  might  remove  faults  of  enunciation,  pronunciation  or 
stress  from  our  speaking.    So  also  we  might  better  our 


78  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

habits  of  study  and  thinking,  our  methods  of  memoriz- 
ing, or  our  manner  of  attending. 

The  Tendency  of  "Ruts." — But  this  will  require  some- 
thing of  heroism.  For  to  follow  the  well-beaten  path 
of  custom  is  easy  and  pleasant,  while  to  break  out  of  the 
rut  of  habit  and  start  a  new  line  of  action  is  difficult 
and  disturbing.  Most  people  prefer  to  keep  doing  things 
as  they  always  have  done  them,  to  continue  reading  and 
thinking  and  believing  as  they  have  long  been  in  the 
habit  of  doing,  not  so  much  because  they  feel  that  their 
way  is  best,  but  because  it  is  easier  than  to  change. 
Hence  the  great  mass  of  us  settle  down  on  the  plane  of 
mediocrity,  and  become  "old  fogy."  We  learn  to  do 
things  passably  well,  cease  to  think  about  improving  our 
ways  of  doing  them,  and  so  fall  into  a  rut.  Only  the 
few  go  on.  They  make  use  of  habit  as  the  rest  do,  but 
they  also  continue  to  attend  at  critical  points  of  action, 
and  so  make  habit  an  ally  in  place  of  accepting  it  as  a 
tyrant. 


4.    HABIT-FORMING  A  PART  OF   EDUCATION 

It  follows  from  the  importance  of  habit  in  our  lives 
that  no  small  part  of  education  should  be  concerned 
with  the  development  of  serviceable  habits.  Says  James, 
*  *  Could  the  young  but  realize  how  soon  they  will  become 
mere  walking  bundles  of  habits,  they  would  give  more 
heed  to  their  conduct  while  in  the  plastic  state.  We  are 
spinning  our  own  fates,  good  or  evil,  and  never  to  be 
undone.  Every  smallest  stroke  of  virtue  or  of  vice  leaves 
its  never-so-little  scar."  Any  youth  who  is  forming  a 
largo  number  of  useful  habits  is  receiving  no  mean  edu- 
cation, no  matter  if  his  knowletlge  of  books  may  be  lim- 
ited ;  on  the  other  hand,  no  one  who  is  forming  a  large 


HABIT  79 

number  of  bad  habits  is  being  well  educated,  no  matter 
how  brilliant  his  knowledge  may  be. 

Youth  the  Time  for  Habit-forming. — Childhood  and 
youth  is  the  great  time  for  habit-forming.  Then  the 
brain  is  plastic  and  easily  molded,  and  it  retains  its 
impressions  more  indelibly;  later  it  is  hard  to  modify, 
and  the  impressions  made  are  less  permanent.  It  is 
hard  to  teach  an  old  dog  new  tricks;  nor  would  he  re- 
member them  if  you  could  teach  them  to  him,  nor  be  able 
to  perform  them  well  even  if  he  could  remember  them. 
The  young  child  will,  within  the  first  few  weeks  of  its 
life,  form  habits  of  sleeping  and  feeding.  It  may  in  a 
few  days  be  led  into  the  habit  of  sleeping  in  the  dark,  or 
requiring  a  light;  of  going  to  sleep  lying  quietly,  or  of 
insisting  upon  being  rocked ;  of  getting  hungry  by  the 
clock,  or  of  wanting  its  food  at  all  times  when  it  finds 
nothing  else  to  do,  and  so  on.  It  is  wholly  outside  the 
power  of  the  mother  or  the  nurse  to  determine  whether 
the  child  shall  form  habits,  but  largely  within  their 
power  to  say  what  habits  shall  be  formed,  since  they 
control  his  acts. 

As  the  child  grows  older,  the  range  of  his  habits  in- 
creases ;  and  by  the  time  he  has  reached  his  middle  teens, 
the  greater  number  of  his  personal  habits  are  formed. 
It  is  very  doubtful  whether  a  boy  who  has  not  formed 
habits  of  punctuality  before  the  age  of  fifteen  will  ever 
be  entirely  trustworthy  in  matters  requiring  precision 
in  this  line.  The  girl  who  has  not,  before  this  age, 
formed  habits  of  neatness  and  order  will  hardly  make  a 
tidy  housekeeper  later  in  her  life.  Those  who  in  youth 
have  no  opportunity  to  habituate  themselves  to  the 
usages  of  society  may  study  books  on  etiquette  and  em- 
ploy private  instructors  in  the  art  of  polite  behavior  all 
they  please  later  in  life,  but  they  will  never  cease  to 


80  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

be  awkward  and  ill  at  ease.  None  are  at  a  greater  dis- 
advantage than  the  suddenly-grown-rich  who  attempt 
late  in  life  to  surround  themselves  with  articles  of  art 
and  luxury,  though  their  habits  were  all  formed  amid 
barrenness  and  want  during  their  earlier  j^ears. 

Tlie  Habit  of  Achievement. — AVhat  youth  does  not 
dream  of  being  great,  or  noble,  or  a  celebrated  scholar! 
And  how  few  there  are  who  finally  achieve  their  ideals ! 
AYhere  does  the  cause  of  failure  lie?  Surely  not  in  the 
lack  of  high  ideals.  ]\Iultitudes  of  young  people  have 
"Excelsior!"  as  their  motto,  and  yet  never  get  started 
up  the  mountain  slope,  let  alone  toiling  on  to  its  top. 
They  have  put  in  hours  dreaming  of  the  glory  farther 
up,  mid  have  never  iegun  to  climb.  The  difficulty  comes 
in  not  realizing  that  the  only  way  to  become  what  we 
wish  or  dream  that  we  may  become  is  to  form  the  habit 
of  heitig  that  thing.  To  form  the  habit  of  achievement, 
of  effort,  of  self-sacrifice,  if  need  be.  To  form  the  habit 
of  deeds  along  with  dreams ;  to  form  the  habit  of  doing. 

Who  of  us  has  not  at  this  moment  lying  in  wait  for 
his  convenience  in  the  dim  future  a  number  of  things 
which  he  means  to  do  just  as  soon  as  this  term  of  school 
is  finished,  or  this  job  of  work  is  completed,  or  when 
he  is  not  so  busy  as  now  ?  And  how  seldom  does  he  ever 
get  at  these  things  at  all !  Darwin  tells  that  in  his  youth 
he  loved  poetry,  art,  and  music,  but  was  so  busy  with 
his  scientific  work  that  he  could  ill  spare  the  time  to 
indnlgc  these  tastes.  So  he  promised  himself  that  he 
would  devote  his  time  to  scientific  work  and  make  his 
mark  in  this.  Then  he  would  have  time  for  the  things 
that  lie  loved,  and  would  cultivate  his  taste  for  the  fine 
arts.  He  made  his  mark  in  the  field  of  science,  and  then 
turned  again  to  poetry,  to  music,  to  art.  But  alas!  they 
were  all  dead  and  dry  bones  to  hiin,  without  life  or  in- 


HABIT  81 

terest.  He  had  passed  the  time  when  he  could  ever  form 
the  taste  for  them.  He  had  formed  his  habits  in  another 
direction,  and  now  it  was  forever  too  late  to  form  new 
habits.  His  own  conclusion  is,  that  if  he  had  his 
life  to  live  over  again,  he  would  each  week  listen  to  some 
musical  concert  and  visit  some  art  gallery,  and  that 
each  day  he  would  read  some  poetry,  and  thereby  keep 
alive  and  active  the  love  for  them. 

So  every  school  and  home  should  be  a  species  of  habit- 
factory — a  place  where  children  develop  habits  of  neat- 
ness, punctuality,  obedience,  politeness,  dependability 
and  the  other  graces  of  character. 

5.     EULES  FOR  HABIT-FOEMING 

James's  Three  Maxims  for  Habit-forming. — On  the 
forming  of  new  habits  and  the  leaving  off  of  old  ones, 
I  know  of  no  better  statement  than  that  of  James,  based 
on  Bain's  chapter  on  "Moral  Habits."  I  quote  this 
statement  at  some  length:  "In  the  acquisition  of  a 
new  habit,  or  the  leaving  off  of  an  old  one,  we  must 
take  care  to  launch  ourselves  with  as  strong  and  de- 
cided an  initiative  as  possible.  Accumulate  all  the  pos- 
sible circumstances  which  shall  reenforce  right  motives; 
put  yourself  assiduously  in  conditions  that  encourage 
the  new  way;  make  engagements  incompatible  with  the 
old ;  take  a  public  pledge,  if  the  case  allows ;  in  short, 
develop  your  resolution  with  every  aid  you  know.  This 
will  give  your  new  beginning  such  a  momentum  that 
the  temptation  to  break  down  will  not  occur  as  soon  as 
it  otherwise  might ;  and  every  day  during  which  a  break- 
down is  postponed  adds  to  the  chances  of  its  not  occur- 
ring at  all. 

■  The  second  maxim  is :    Never  suffer  an  exception  to 


<  <  I 


82  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

occur  until  the  new  habit  is  securely  rooted  in  your  life. 
Each  lapse  is  like  letting  fall  a  ball  of  string  which  one 
is  carefully  winding  up ;  a  single  slip  undoes  more  than 
a  great  many  turns  will  wind  again.  Continuity  of 
training  is  the  great  means  of  making  the  nervous  sys- 
tem act  infallibly  right.  .  .  .  The  need  of  securing  suc- 
cess nerves  one  to  future  vigor. 

"A  third  maxim  may  be  added  to  the  preceding  pair: 
Seize  the  very  first  possible  opportunity  to  act  on  every 
resolution  you  make,  and  on  every  emotional  prompting 
you  may  experience  in  the  direction  of  the  habits  yoii 
aspire  to  gain.  It  is  not  in  the  moment  of  their  forming, 
but  in  the  moment  of  their  producing  motor  effects, 
that  resolves  and  aspirations  communicate  the  new  'set' 
to  the  brain."  ^ 

The  Preponderance  of  Good  Habits  Over  Bad. — And 
finally,  let  no  one  be  disturbed  or  afraid  because  in  a  lit- 
tle time  you  become  a  "walking  bundle  of  habits."  For 
in  so  far  as  your  good  actions  predominate  over  your 
bad  ones,  that  much  will  your  good  habits  outweigh  your 
bad  habits.  Silently,  moment  by  moment,  efficiency  is 
growing  out  of  all  worthy  acts  well  done.  Every  bit 
of  heroic  self-sacrifice,  every  battle  fought  and  won, 
every  good  deed  performed,  is  being  irradicably  credited 
to  you  in  your  nervous  system,  and  will  finally  add  its 
mite  toward  achieving  the  success  of  your  ambitions. 

6.  PROBLEMS  IN  OBSERVATION  AND  INTROSPECTION 

1.  Select  some  act  which  you  have  recently  beg-un  to  per- 
form ami  watch  it  grow  more  and  more  habitual.  Notice 
carefully  for  a  week   and   see  whether  you   do   not   discover 

'  "  Pnychology, "  vol.  i,  pp.  12.3,  124;  also,  "Briefer  Course," 
p.  145. 


HABIT  83 

some  habits  which  you  did  not  know  you  had.    Make  a  catalog 
of  your  bad  habits ;  of  the  most  important  of  your  good  ones. 

2.  Set  out  to  form  some  new  habits  which  you  desire  to 
possess;  also  to  break  some  undesirable  habit,  watching  care- 
fully what  takes  place  in  both  cases,  and  how  long  it  requires. 

3.  Tiy  the  following  exi^eriment  and  relate  the  results  to 
the  matter  of  automatic  control  brought  about  by  habit:  Draw 
a  star  on  a  sheet  of  cardboard.  Place  this  on  a  table  before 
you,  with  a  hand-mirror  so  arranged  that  you  can  see  the  star 
in  the  mirror.  Now  trace  the  outline  of  the  star  with  a  pen- 
cil, looking  steadily  in  the  mirror  to  guide  your  hand.  Do 
not  lift  the  pencil  from  the  paper  from  the  time  you  staii; 
until  you  finish.     Have  othere  trj^  this  experiment. 

4.  Study  some  gTOup  of  pupils  for  their  habits  (1)  of 
attention,  (2)  of  speech,  (3)  of  standing,  sitting,  and  walking, 
(4)  of  study.  Report  on  yoirr  observations  and  suggest  meth- 
ods of  curing  bad  habits  observed. 

5.  Make  a  list  of  "mannerisms"  you  have  observed,  and 
suggest  how  they  may  be   cured. 

6.  Make  a  list  of  from  ten  to  twenty  habits  which  you 
think  the  school  and  its  work  should  especially  cultivate. 
What  ones  of  these  are  the  schools  you  know  least  successful 
in  cultivating?    Where  does  the  trouble  lie? 


CHAPTER  VI 

SENSATION 

We  can  best  understand  the  problems  of  sensation 
and  perception  if  we  first  think  of  the  existence  of  two 
great  worlds — the  world  of  phj^sical  nature  without  and 
the  world  of  mind  within.  On  the  one  hand  is  our  ma- 
terial environment,  the  things  we  see  and  hear  and  touch 
and  taste  and  handle;  and  on  the  other  hand  our  con- 
sciousness, the  means  by  which  we  come  to  know  this 
outer  world  and  adjust  ourselves  to  it.  These  two  worlds 
seem  in  a  sense  to  belong  to  and  require  each  other. 
For  what  would  be  the  meaning  or  use  of  the  physical 
world  with  no  mind  to  know  or  use  it ;  and  what  would 
be  the  use  of  a  mind  with  nothing  to  be  known  or 
thought  about? 

1.     now  WE  COME  TO  KNOW  THE   EXTERNAL  WORLD 

There  is  a  marvel  about  our  coming  to  know  the  ex- 
ternal world  whicli  we  shall  never  be  able  fully  to  un- 
derstand. Wo  have  come  by  this  knowledge  so  grad- 
ually and  unconsciously  tliat  it  now  appears  to  us  as 
coinmonplaco,  and  we  take  for  granted  many  things  that 
it  \v(»ul(l  j)u/,zl('  us  to  cxjilain. 

Knowledge  through  the  Senses. — For  example,  we  say, 
"Of  course  I  see  yonder  green  tree:  it  is  about  ten  rods 
di.stant."  15ut  why  "of  course"?  Why  should  objects 
at  a  distance  from  us  .imi   with   no  evident  connection 

84 


SENSATION  85 

between  us  and  them  be  known  to  us  at  all  merely  by 
turning  our  eyes  in  their  direction  when  there  is  light? 
"Why  not  rather  say  with  the  blind  son  of  Professor 
Puiseaux  of  Paris,  who,  when  asked  if  he  would  like  to 
be  restored  to  sight,  answered :  "  If  it  were  not  for 
curiosity  I  would  rather  have  long  arms.  It  seems  to 
me  that  my  hands  would  teach  me  better  what  is  passing 
in  the  moon  than  your  eyes  or  telescopes." 

We  listen  and  then  say,  ''Yes,  that  is  a  certain  bell 
ringing  in  the  neighboring  village,"  as  if  this  were  the 
most  simple  thing  in  the  world.  But  why  should  one 
piece  of  metal  striking  against  another  a  mile  or  two 
away  make  us  aware  that  there  is  a  bell  there  at  all,  let 
alone  that  it  is  a  certain  bell  whose  tone  we  recog- 
nize? Or  we  pass  our  fingers  over  a  piece  of  cloth  and 
decide,  ' '  That  is  silk. ' '  But  why,  merely  by  placing  our 
skin  in  contact  with  a  bit  of  material,  should  we  be  able 
to  know  its  quality,  much  less  that  it  is  cloth  and  that 
its  threads  were  originally  spun  by  an  insect?  Or  we 
take  a  sip  of  liquid  and  say,  ' '  This  milk  is  sour. ' '  But 
why  should  we  be  able  by  taking  the  liquid  into  the 
mouth  and  bringing  it  into  contact  with  the  mucous 
membrane  to  tell  that  it  is  milk,  and  that  it  pos- 
sesses the  quality  which  we  call  sourf  Or,  once  more, 
we  get  a  whiff  of  air  through  the  open  window  in  the 
springtime  and  say,  "There  is  a  lilac  bush  in  bloom  on 
the  lawn."  Yet  why,  from  inhaling  air  containing  par- 
ticles of  lilac,  should  we  be  able  to  know  that  there  is 
anything  outside,  much  less  that  it  is  a  flower  and  of  a 
particular  variety  which  we  call  lilac?  Or,  finally,  we 
hold  a  heated  flatiron  up  near  the  cheek  and  say,  "This 
is  too  hot!  it  will  burn  the  cloth."  But  why  by  holding 
this  object  a  foot  away  from  the  face  do  we  know  that 
it  is  there,  let  alone  knowing  its  temperature? 


86  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

The  Unity  of  Sensory  Experience. — Further,  our  senses 
come  through  experience  to  have  the  power  of  fusing,  or 
combining  their  knowledge,  so  to  speak,  by  which  each 
expresses  its  knowledge  in  terms  of  the  others.  Thus  we 
take  a  glance  out  of  the  window  and  say  that  the  day 
looks  cold,  although  we  well  know  that  w^e  cannot  see 
cold.  Or  we  say  that  the  melon  sounds  green,  or  the 
bell  sounds  cracked,  although  a  crack  or  greenness  can- 
not be  heard.  Or  we  say  that  the  box  feels  empty,  al- 
through  emptiness  cannot  be  felt.  AVe  have  come  to  as- 
sociate cold,  originally  experienced  with  days  which 
look  like  the  one  we  now  see,  with  this  particular  appear- 
ance, and  so  we  say  we  see  the  cold ;  sounds  like  the  one 
coming  from  the  bell  we  have  come  to  associate  with 
cracked  bells,  and  that  coming  from  the  melon  with 
green  melons,  until  we  say  unhesitatingly  that  the  bell 
sounds  cracked  and  the  melon  sounds  green.  And  so 
with  the  various  senses.  Each  gleans  from  the  world 
its  own  particular  bit  of  knowledge,  but  all  are  finally 
in  a  partnership  and  what  is  each  one's  knowledge  be- 
longs to  every  other  one  in  so  far  as  the  other  can 
use  it. 

The  Sensory  Processes  to  Be  Explained. — The  explana- 
tion of  the  ultimate  nature  of  knowledge,  and  how  we 
reach  it  through  contact  with  our  material  environment, 
we  will  leave  to  the  philosophers.  And  battles  enough 
they  liave  over  the  question,  and  still  others  they  will 
liave  before  the  matter  is  settled.  The  easier  and  more 
important  problem  for  us  is  1o  describe  the  processes 
by  which  the  miiid  eomcs  to  know  its  environment,  and 
to  see  how  it  uses  this  knowledge  in  thinking.  This 
jiiuch  w(!  .shall  be  able  to  do,  for  it  is  often  possible  to 
<les('rih(!  a  process  and  discover  its  laws  even  when  we 
cannot  fully  explain  its  nature  and  origin.     We  know 


SENSATION  87 

the  process  of  digestion  and  assimilation,  and  the  laws 
which  govern  them,  although  we  do  not  understand  tlie 
ultimate  nature  and  origin  of  life  which  makes  these 
possible. 

The  dualities  of  Objects  Exist  in  the  Mind. — ^Yet  even 
in  the  relatively  simple  description  which  we  have  pro- 
posed many  puzzles  confront  us,  and  one  of  them  ap- 
pears at  the  very  outset.  Tliis  is  that  the  qualities  which 
we  usually  ascribe  to  objects  really  exist  in  our  own 
minds  and  not  in  the  objects  at  all.  Take,  for  instance, 
the  common  qualities  of  light  and  color.  The  physicist 
tells  us  that  what  we  see  as  light  is  occasioned  by  an 
incredibly  rapid  beating  of  ether  waves  on  the  retina  of 
the  eye.  All  space  is  filled  with  this  ether ;  and  when  it 
is  light — that  is,  when  some  object  like  the  sun  or  other 
light-giving  body  is  present — the  ether  is  set  in  motion 
by  the  vibrating  molecules  of  the  body  which  is  the 
source  of  light,  its  waves  strike  the  retina,  a  current  is 
produced  and  carried  to  the  brain,  and  we  see  light. 
This  means,  then,  that  space,  the  medium  in  which  we 
see  objects,  is  not  filled  with  light  (the  sensation), 
but  with  very  rapid  waves  of  ether,  and  that  the  light 
which  we  see  really  occurs  in  our  own  minds  as  the 
mental  response  to  the  physical  stimulus  of  ether 
waves.  Likewise  with  color.  Color  is  produced  by 
ether  weaves  of  different  lengths  and  degrees  of  rapid- 
ity. 

Thus  ether  waves  at  the  rate  of  450  billions  a  second 
give  us  the  sensation  of  red;  of  472  billions  a  second, 
orange ;  of  526  billions  a  second,  yellow ;  of  589  billions 
a  second,  green;  of  640  billions  a  second,  blue;  of  722 
billions  a  second,  indigo ;  of  790  billions  a  second,  violet. 
What  exists  outside  of  us,  then,  is  these  ether  waves 
of  different  rates,  and  not  the  colors    (as  sensations) 


88  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

themselves.  The  beautiful  yellow  and  crimson  of  a  sun- 
set, the  variegated  colors  of  a  landscape,  the  delicate 
pink  in  the  cheek  of  a  child,  the  blush  of  a  rose,  the  shim- 
mering green  of  the  lake — these  reside  not  in  the  objects 
themselves,  but  in  the  consciousness  of  the  one  who 
sees  them.  The  objects  possess  but  the  quality  of 
reflecting  back  to  the  eye  ether  waves  of  the  par- 
ticular rate  corresponding  to  the  color  which  we  ascribe 
to  them.  Thus  "red"  objects,  and  no  others,  re- 
flect back  ether  waves  of  a  rate  of  450  billions  a 
second  :  ' '  white ' '  objects  reflect  all  rates ;  ' '  black ' '  ob- 
jects reflect  none. 

The  case  is  no  different  with  regard  to  sound.  When 
we  speak  of  a  sound  coming  from  a  bell,  what  we  really 
mean  is  that  the  vibrations  of  the  bell  have  set  up  waves 
in  the  air  between  it  and  our  ear,  whicli  have  produced 
corresponding  vibrations  in  the  ear;  that  a  nerve  cur- 
rent was  thereby  produced  ;  and  that  a  sound  was  heard. 
But  the  sound  (i.e.,  sensation)  is  a  mental  thing,  and 
exists  only  in  our  own  consciousness.  What  passed  be- 
tween the  sounding  object  and  ourselves  was  waves  in 
the  intervening  air,  ready  to  be  translated  through  the 
machinery  of  nerves  and  brain  into  tlie  beautiful  tones 
and  melodies  and  liarmonios  of  the  mind.  And  so  with 
all  otiicf  sensations. 

The  Three  Sets  of  Factors. — AVhat  exists  outside  of  us 
therefore  is  a  stimulus,  some  form  of  physical  energy, 
ol'  a  kind  suitable  to  excite  to  activity  a  certain  end- 
organ  of  taste,  or  touch,  or  smell,  or  siglit.  or  hearing; 
wiiat  exists  within  us  is  tlu^  nervous  machinery  capable 
of  converting  this  stinuilus  into  a  nerve  current  which 
«hall  j)r()fliie(!  an  act  ivity  in  the  cortex  of  the  brain  ;  what 
results  is  the  ninitdl  ohjrct  which  we  call  a  sensation 
of  ta.ste,  smell,  touch,  sight,  or  liearing. 


SENSATION  89 

2.     THE  NATURE  OF  SENSATION 

Sensation  Gives  TJs  Our  World  of  Qualities. — In  actual 
experience  sensations  are  never  known  apart  from  the 
objects  to  which  they  belong.  This  is  to  say  that  when 
we  see  yelloiv  or  red  it  is  always  in  connection  with  some 
surface,  or  object;  when  we  taste  sour,  this  quality  be- 
longs to  some  substance,  and  so  on  with  all  the  senses. 
Yet  by  sensation  we  mean  only  the  simple  qualities  of 
objects  known  in  consciousness  as  the  result  of  appro- 
priate stimuli  applied  to  end-organs.  We  shall  later  see 
how  by  perception  these  qualities  fuse  or  combine  to 
form  objects,  but  in  the  present  chapter  we  shall  be  con- 
cerned with  the  qualities  only.  Sensations  are,  then, 
the  simplest  and  most  elementary  knowledge  w^e  may 
get  from  the  physical  world, — the  red,  the  blue,  the  bit- 
ter, the  cold,  the  fragrant,  and  whatever  other  qualities 
may  belong  to  the  external  world.  We  shall  not  for  the 
present  be  concerned  with  the  objects  or  sources  from 
which  the  qualities  may  come. 

To  quote  James  on  the  meaning  of  sensation:  "All 
we  can  say  on  this  point  is  that  ivliat  we  mean  by  sen- 
sations are  first  things  in  the  way  of  consciousness.  They 
are  the  immediate  results  upon  consciousness  of  nerve 
currents  as  they  enter  the  brain,  and  before  they  have 
aw^akened  any  suggestions  or  associations  with  past  ex- 
perience. But  it  is  obvious  that  s\icli  immediate  sensa- 
timis  can  be  realized  only  in  the  earliest  days  of  life." 

Tlie  Attributes  of  Sensation. — Sensations  differ  from 
each  other  in  at  least  four  respects;  namely,  quality, 
intensity,  extensity,  and  duration. 

It  is  a  difference  in  quality  that  makes  us  say,  "This 
paper  is  red,  and  that,  blue;  this  liquid  is  sweet,  and 
that,  sour."    Differences  in  quality  are  therefore  funda- 


90  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

mental  differences  in  kind.  Besides  the  quality-differ- 
ences that  exist  within  the  same  general  field,  as  of  taste 
or  vision,  it  is  evident  that  there  is  a  still  more  funda- 
mental difference  existing  between  the  various  fields. 
One  can,  for  example,  compare  red  with  blue  or  sweet 
with  sour,  and  tell  which  quality  he  prefers.  But  let 
him  try  to  compare  red  with  sweet,  or  blue  with  sour, 
and  the  quality-difference  is  so  profound  that  there 
seems  to  be  no  basis  for  comparison. 

Differences  in  intensity  of  sensation  are  familiar  to 
every  person  who  prefers  two  lumps  of  sugar  rather 
than  one  lump  in  his  coffee;  the  sweet  is  of  the  same 
quality  in  either  case,  but  differs  in  intensity.  In  every 
field  of  sensation,  the  intensity  may  proceed  from  the 
smallest  amount  to  the  greatest  amount  discernible.  In 
general,  the  intensity  of  the  sensation  depends  on  the 
intensity  of  the  stimulus,  though  the  condition  of  the 
sense-organ  as  regards  fatigue  or  adaptation  to  the  stim- 
ulus has  its  effect.  It  is  obvious  that  a  stimulus  may  be 
too  weak  to  produce  any  sensation;  as,  for  example,  a 
few  grains  of  sugar  in  a  cup  of  coffee  or  a  few  drops 
of  lemon  in  a  quart  of  water  could  not  be  detected.  It 
is  also  true  that  the  intensity  of  the  stimulus  may  be 
so  great  that  an  increase  in  intensity  produces  no  effect 
on  the  sensation ;  as,  for  example,  the  addition  of  sugar 
to  a  solution  of  saccharine  would  not  noticeably  increase 
its  sweetness.  The  lowest  and  highest  intensity  points 
of  sensation  are  calUnl  the  lower  nnd  upper  limeri,  or 
threshold,  respectively. 

By  extens-ity  is  meant  the  s})ace-dififerences  of  sen- 
sations. The  touch  of  the  point  of  a  toothpick  on  the 
skin  has  a  different  space  quality  from  the  touch  of 
the  flat  end  of  a  pencil.  Low  tones  seem  to  have  more 
volume  than  high  tones.     Some  pains  feel  sharp  and 


SENSATION  91 

others  dull  and  diffuse.  The  warmth  felt  from  spread- 
ing the  palms  of  the  hands  out  to  the  fire  has  a  "big- 
ness" not  felt  from  heating  one  solitary  finger.  The 
extensity  of  a  sensation  depends  on  the  number  of  nerve 
endings  stimulated. 

The  duration  of  a  sensation  refers  to  the  time  it  lasts. 
This  must  not  be  confused  with  the  duration  of  the 
stimulus,  which  may  be  either  longer  or  shorter  than 
the  duration  of  the  sensation.  Every  sensation  must 
exist  for  some  space  of  time,  long  or  short,  or  it  would 
have  no  part  in  consciousness. 

3.     SENSORY  QUALITIES  AND  THEIR  END-ORGANS 

All  are  familiar  with  the  "five  senses"  of  our  ele- 
mentary physiologies,  sight,  hearing,  taste,  smell,  and 
touch.  A  more  complete  study  of  sensation  reveals 
nearly  three  times  this  number,  however.  This  is  to  say 
that  the  body  is  equipped  with  more  than  a  dozen 
different  kinds  of  end-organs,  each  prepared  to  receive 
its  own  particular  type  of  stimulus.  It  must  also  be  un- 
derstood that  some  of  the  end-organs  yield  more  than 
one  sense.  The  eye,  for  example,  gives  not  only  visual 
but  muscular  sensations;  the  ear  not  only  auditory,  but 
tactual;  the  tongue  not  only  gustatory,  but  tactual  and 
cold  and  warmth  sensations. 

Sight. — Vision  is  a  distance  sense ;  we  can  see  afar  off. 
The  stimulus  is  chemical  in  its  action;  this  means  that 
the  ether  waves,  on  striking  the  retina,  cause  a  chemical 
change  which  sets  up  the  nerve  current  responsible  for 
the  sensation. 

The  eye,  whose  general  structure  is  sufficiently  de- 
scribed in  all  standard  physiologies,  consists  of  a  visual 
apparatus  designed  to  bring  the  images  of  objects  to  a 


92  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

clear  focus  on  the  retina  at  the  fovea,  or  area  of  clearest 
vision,  near  the  point  of  entrance  of  the  optic  nerve. 

The  sensation  of  sight  coming  from  this  retinal  image 
unaided  by  other  sensations  gives  us  but  two  qualities, 
light  and  color.  The  eye  can  distinguish  many  dif- 
ferent grades  of  light  from  purest  white  on  through  the 
various  grays  to  densest  black.  The  range  is  greater 
still  in  color.  We  speak  of  the  seven  colors  of  the  spec- 
trum, violet,  indigo,  blue,  green,  yellow,  orange,  and  red. 
But  this  is  not  a  very  serviceable  classification,  since 
the  average  eye  can  distinguish  about  35,000  color 
effects.  It  is  also  somewhat  bewildering  to  find  that  all 
these  colors  seem  to  be  produced  from  the  four  funda- 
mental hues,  red,  green,  yellow,  and  blue,  plus  the 
various  tints.  These  four,  combined  in  varying  propor- 
tions and  with  different  degrees  of  light  (i.e.,  different 
shades  of  gray),  yield  all  the  color  effects  known  to  the 
human  eye.  Herschel  estimates  that  the  workers  on  the 
mosaics  at  Rome  must  have  distinguished  30,000  differ- 
ent color  tones.  The  hue  of  a  color  refers  to  it^  funda- 
mental quality,  as  red  or  yellow;  the  chroma,  to  its 
saturation,  or  the  strength  of  the  color;  and  the  tint, 
to  the  amount  of  brightness    (i.e.,   white)    it  contains. 

Hearing. — Hearing  is  also  a  distance  sense.  The  ac- 
tion of  its  stimulus  is  mechanical,  which  is  to  say  that 
the  vibrations  produced  in  the  air  by  the  sounding  body 
are  finally  transmitted  by  the  mechanism  of  the  middle 
oar  to  1h<!  inner  ear.  Here  the  impulse  is  conveyed 
til  rough  the  li(iuid  of  the  internal  ear  to  the  nerve  end- 
ings as  so  many  tiny  blows,  which  produce  the  nerve  cur- 
rent carried  to  the  l)rain  by  the  auditory  nerve. 

The  sensation  of  iicaring,  like  that  of  sight,  gives  us 
two  qnalilics:  namely,  tones  with  their  accompanying 
pitch  Jind  timbre,  and  noises.    Tones,  or  musical  sounds, 


SENSATION  93 

are  produced  by  isochronous  or  equal-timed  vibrations; 
thus  C  of  the  first  octave  is  produced  by  256  vibrations 
a  second,  and  if  this  tone  is  prolonged  the  vibration 
rate  will  continue  uniformly  the  same.  Noises,  on  the 
other  hand,  are  produced  by  vibrations  which  have  no 
uniformity  of  vibration  rate.  The  ear's  sensibility  to 
pitch  extends  over  about  seven  octaves.  The  seven-oc- 
tave piano  goes  down  to  271/2  vibrations  and  reaches  up 
to  3,500  vibrations.  Notes  of  nearly  50,000  vibrations  can 
be  heard  by  an  average  ear,  however,  though  these  are 
too  painfully  shrill  to  be  musical.  Taking  into  account 
this  upper  limit,  the  range  of  the  ear  is  about  eleven 
octaves.  The  ear,  having  given  us  loudness  of  tones, 
which  depends  on  the  amplitude  of  the  vibrations,  pitch, 
w^hich  depends  on  the  rapidity  of  the  vibrations,  and 
timbre,  or  quality,  which  depends  on  the  complexity 
of  the  vibrations,  has  no  further  qualities  of  sound  to 
reveal. 

Taste. — The  sense  of  taste  is  located  chiefly  in  the 
tongue,  over  the  surface  of  which  are  scattered  many 
minute  taste-bulhs.  These  can  be  seen  as  small  red 
specks,  most  plentifully  distributed  along  the  edges  and 
at  the  tip  of  the  tongue.  The  substance  tasted  must 
be  in  solution,  and  come  in  contact  with  the  nerve  end- 
ings.   The  action  of  the  stimulus  is  chemical. 

The  sense  of  taste  recognizes  the  four  qualities  of 
sour,  sweet,  salt,  and  hitter.  Many  of  the  qualities 
which  we  improperly  call  tastes  are  in  reality  a  com- 
plex of  taste,  smell,  touch,  and  temperature.  Smell  con- 
tributes so  largely  to  the  sense  of  taste  that  many  ar- 
ticles of  food  become  ''tasteless"  when  we  have  a  catarrh, 
and  many  nauseating  doses  of  medicine  can  be  taken 
without  discomfort  if  the  nose  is  held.  Probably  none 
of  us,  if  we  are  careful  to  exclude  all  odors  by  plugging 


94  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

the  nostrils  with  cotton,  can  by  taste  distinguish  between 
scraped  apple,  potato,  turnip,  or  beet,  or  can  tell  hot 
milk  from  tea  or  coffee  of  the  same  temperature. 

Smell. — In  the  upper  part  of  the  nasal  cavity  lies  a 
small  brownish  patch  of  mucous  membrane.  It  is  here 
that  the  olfactory  nerve  endings  are  located.  The  sub- 
stance smelled  must  be  volatile,  that  is,  must  exist  in 
gaseous  form,  and  come  in  direct  contact  with  the  nerve 
endings.    Chemical  action  results  in  a  nerve  current. 

The  sensations  of  smell  have  not  been  classified  so  well 
as  those  of  taste,  and  we  have  no  distinct  names  for 
them.  Neither  do  we  know  how  many  olfactory  quali- 
ties the  sense  of  smell  is  capable  of  revealing.  The  only 
definite  classification  of  smell  qualities  is  that  based  on 
their  pleasantness  or  the  opposite.  We  also  borrow  a 
few  terms  and  speak  of  sweet  or  fragrant  odors  and 
fresh  or  close  smells.  There  is  some  evidence  when  we 
observe  animals,  or  even  primitive  men,  that  the  human 
race  has  been  evolving  greater  sensibility  to  certain 
odors,  while  at  the  same  time  there  has  been  a  loss  of 
keenness  of  what  we  c^ll  scent. 

Various  Sensations  from  the  Skin. — The  skin,  besides 
being  a  protective  and  excretory  organ,  affords  a  lodg- 
ing-place for  the  end-organs  giving  us  our  sense  of  pres- 
sure, pain,  cold,  warmtii,  tickle,  and  itch.  Press^ire 
seems  to  have  for  its  end-organ  the  hair-hulhs  of  the 
skin  ;  on  hairless  regions  small  bulbs  called  the  corpusclss 
of  Mcissner  serve  this  purpose.  Vain  is  thought  to  be 
mediated  by  free  nerve  endings.  Cold  depends  on  end- 
organs  called  th(!  hulhs  of  Krausc;  and  warmth  on  the 
Knfjlnian  corpuscles. 

Cutaneous  or  skin  sensation  may  arise  from  either 
mrchankal  stimulation,  such  as  pressure,  a  blow,  or 
tickling,  from  thermal  stimulation  from  hot  or  cold  ob- 


SENSATION  95 

jects,  from  electrical  stimulation,  or  from  the  action  of 
certain  chemicals,  such  as  acids  and  the  like.  Stimulated 
mechanically,  the  skin  gives  us  but  two  sensation  quali- 
ties, pressure  and  pain.  Many  of  the  qualities  which  we 
commonly  ascribe  to  the  skin  sensations  are  really  a  com- 
plex of  cutaneous  and  muscular  sensations.  C&ntact  is 
light  pressure.  Hardness  and  softness  depend  on  the 
intensity  of  the  pressure,  liaughness  and  smoothness 
arise  from  interrupted  and  continuous  pressure,  respee- 


FiQ.  17. — Diagram  showing  distribution  of  hot  and  cold  spots  on  the 
back  of  the  hand.     C,  cold  spots;  H,  hot  spots. 

tively,  and  require  movement  over  the  rough  or  smooth 
surface.  Touch  depends  on  pressure  accompanied  by 
the  muscular  sensations  involved  in  the  movements  con- 
nected with  the  act.  Pain  is  clearly  a  different  sensa- 
tion from  pressure;  but  any  of  the  cutaneous  or  mus- 
cular sensations  may,  by  excessive  stimulation,  be  made 
to  pass  over  into  pain.  All  parts  of  the  skin  are  sen- 
sitive to  pressure  and  pain;  but  certain  parts,  like 
the  finger  tips,  and  the  tip  of  the  tongue,  are  more 
highly  sensitive  than  others.  The  skin  varies  also  in  its 
sensitivity  to  heat  and  cold.  If  we  take  a  hot  or  a  very 
cold  pencil  point  and  pass  it  rather  lightly  and  slowly 
over  the  skin,  it  is  easy  to  discover  certain  spots  from 
which  a  sensation  of  warmth  or  of  cold  flashes  out.  In 
this  way  it  is  possible  to  locate  the  end-organs  of  tem- 
perature very  accurately. 


96  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

The  Kinaesthetic  Senses. — The  muscles,  tendons,  and 
joints  also  give  rise  to  perfectly  definite  sensations,  but 
they  have  not  been  named  as  have  the  sensations  from 
most  of  the  other  end-organs.  Weight  is  the  most  clearly 
mai'ked  of  these  sensations.  It  is  through  the  sensa- 
tions connected  with  movements  of  muscles,  tendons,  and 
joints  that  we  come  to  judge  form,  size,  and  distance. 

The  Organic  Senses. — Finally,  to  the  sensations  men- 
tioned so  far  must  be  added  those  which  come  from  the 
internal  organs  of  the  bod}^  From  the  alimentary  canal 
we  get  the  sensations  of  hunger,  thirst,  and  nausea;  from 
tho  heart,  lungs,  and  organs  of  sex  come  numerous  well- 
defined  but  unnamed  sensations  which  play  an  impor- 
tant part  in  making  up  the  feeling-tone  of  our  daily 
lives. 

Thus  we  see  that  the  senses  may  be  looked  upon  as  the 
sentries  of  the  body,  standing  at  the  outposts  where  na- 
ture and  ourselves  meet.  They  discover  the  qualities 
of  the  various  objects  with  Avhich  Ave  come  in  contact 
and  hand  them  over  to  the  mind  in  the  form  of  sensa- 
tions. And  these  sensations  are  the  raw  material  out  of 
which  we  begin  to  construct  our  material  environment. 
Only  as  we  are  equipped  with  good  organs  of  sense, 
especially  good  eyes  and  ears,  therefore,  are  we  able  to 
enter  fully  into  the  wonderful  world  about  us  and  re- 
ceive the  stimuli  necessary  to  our  thought  and  action. 

4.     PROBLEMS    IN   OBSERVATION  AND   INTROSPECTION 

1.  Observe  a  sclioolroom  of  ehildren  mI  work  with  the  aim 
of  (li.scoverinjif  any  Hiat  show  det'ect.s  of  vi.sion  or  hearint;:. 
What  are  the  syiiij)toms?  What  is  the  effect  of  iuability  to 
hear  or  see  well  upon  interest  and  attention? 

'J.  Talk  with  your  teacher  about  teslinp-  the  eyes  and  ears 
of  the  children  of  some  school.     The  simpler  tests  for  vision 


SENSATION  97 

and  hearing-  are  easily  applied,  and  the  expense  for  material 
almost  nothing.  What  tests  should  be  used?  Does  your 
school  have  the  test  card  for  vision? 

3.  Use  a  rotator  or  color  tops  for  mixing  discs  of  white 
and  black  to  produce  different  shades  of  gray.  Fix  in  mind 
the  gray  made  of  half  white  and  half  black;  three- fourths 
white  and  one-fourth  black ;  one-fourth  white  and  three-fourths 
black. 

4.  In  the  same  way  mix  the  two  complementaries  yellow 
and  blue  to  produce  a  gray;  mix  red  and  green  in  the  same 
way.  Tiy  various  combinations  of  the  four  fundamental  col- 
ors, and  discover  how  different  coloi-s  are  produced.  Seek  for 
these  same  coloi-s  in  nature — sky,  leaves,  flowers,  etc. 

5.  Take  a  large  wire  nail  and  push  it  through  a  cork  so  that 
it  can  be  handled  without  touching  the  metal  with  the  fingers. 
Now  cool  it  in  ice  or  very  cold  water,  then  diy  it  and  move 
the  point  slowly  across  the  back  of  the  hand.  Do  you  feel 
occasional  thrills  of  cold  as  the  point  passes  over  a  bulb  of 
Krause?  Heat  the  nail  with  a  match  flame  or  over  a  lamp, 
and  perform  the  same  experiment.  Do  you  feel  the  thrills  of 
heat  from  the  corpuscles  of  RufiQni? 

6.  Tiy  stopping  the  nostrils  with  cotton  and  having  some- 
one give  you  scraped  apple,  potato,  onion,  etc.,  and  see  whether, 
by  taste  alone,  you  can  distinguish  the  difference.  Why  can- 
not sulphur  be  tasted? 


CHAPTER   VII 

PERCEPTION 

No  young  child  at  first  sees  objects  as  we  see  them,  or 
hears  sounds  as  we  hear  them.  This  power,  the  power 
of  perception,  is  a  gradual  development.  It  grows  day 
by  day  out  of  the  learner's  experience  in  his  world  of 
sights  and  sounds,  and  whatever  other  fields  his  senses 
respond  to. 

1.     THE  FUNCTION  OF  PERCEPTION 

Need  of  Knowing  the  Material  World. — It  is  the  busi- 
ness of  perception  to  give  us  knowledge  of  our  world  of 
material  objects  and  their  relations  in  space  and  time. 
The  material  world  which  we  enter  through  the  gate- 
ways of  the  senses  is  more  marvelous  by  far  than  any 
fairy  world  created  by  the  fancy  of  story-tellers;  for 
it  contains  the  elements  of  all  they  have  conceived  and 
much  more  besides.  It  is  more  marvelous  than  any 
structure  planned  and  executed  by  the  mind  of  man ; 
for  all  the  wonders  and  beauties  of  the  Coliseum  or  of 
St.  Peter's  existed  in  nature  before  they  were  discov- 
ered by  the  architect  and  thrown  together  in  those  mag- 
nificent structures.  The  material  advancement  of  civili- 
zation has  been  but  the  discovery  of  the  objects,  forces, 
and  laws  of  nature,  and  their  use  in  inventions  service- 
able to  men.  And  these  forces  and  laws  of  nature  were 
discovered  only  as  they  were  made  manifest  through 
objects  in  the  material  world. 

98 


PERCEPTION  99 

The  problem  lying  before  each  individual  who  would 
enter  fully  into  this  rich  world  of  environment,  then,  is 
to  discover  at  first  hand  just  as  large  a  part  of  the  ma- 
terial world  about  him  as  possible.  In  the  most  humble 
environment  of  the  most  uneventful  life  is  to  be  found 
the  material  for  discoveries  and  'inventions  yet  un- 
dreamed of.  Lying  in  the  shade  of  an  apple  tree  under 
the  open  sky,  Newton  read  from  a  falling  apple  the  fun- 
damental principles  of  the  law  of  gravitation  which 
has  revolutionized  science ;  sitting  at  a  humble  tea  table 
Watt  watched  the  gurgling  of  the  steam  escaping  from 
the  kettle,  and  evolved  the  steam  engine  therefrom ;  with 
his  simple  kite,  Franklin  drew  down  the  lightning  from 
the  clouds,  and  started  the  science  of  electricity ;  through 
studying  a  ball,  the  ancient  scholars  conceived  the  earth 
to  be  a  sphere,  and  Columbus  discovered  America. 

Tlie  Problem  Which  Confronts  the  Child.— Well  it  is 
that  the  child,  starting  his  life's  journey,  cannot  see  the 
magnitude  of  the  task  before  him.  Cast  amid  a  world 
of  objects  of  whose  very  existence  he  is  ignorant,  and 
whose  meaning  and  uses  have  to  be  learned  by  slow  and 
often  painful  experience,  he  proceeds  step  by  step 
through  the  senses  in  his  discovery  of  the  objects  about 
him.  Yet,  considered  again,  we  ourselves  are  after  all 
but  a  step  in  advance  of  the  child.  Though  we  are 
somewhat  more  familiar  with  the  use  of  our  senses  than 
he,  and  know  a  few  more  objects  about  us,  yet  the  knowl- 
edge of  the  wisest  of  us  is  at  best  pitifully  meager  com- 
pared with  the  richness  of  nature.  So  impossible  is  it 
for  us  to  know  all  our  material  environment,  that  men 
have  taken  to  becoming  specialists.  One  man  will  spend 
his  life  in  the  study  of  a  certain  variety  of  plants,  while 
there  are  hundreds  of  thousands  of  varieties  all  about 
him;  another  will  study  a  particular  kind  of  animal  Hfe, 


100  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

perhaps  too  minute  to  be  seen  with  the  naked  eye,  while 
the  world  is  teeming  with  animal  forms  which  he  has 
not  time  in  his  short  day  of  life  to  stop  to  examine ; 
another  will  study  the  land  forms  and  read  the  earth's 
history  from  the  rocks  and  geological  strata,  but  here 
again  nature's  volume  is  so  large  that  he  has  time  to 
read  but  a  small  fraction  of  the  whole.  Another  studies 
the  human  body  and  learns  to  read  from  its  expressions 
the  signs  of  health  and  sickness,  and  to  prescribe  reme- 
dies for  its  ills;  but  in  this  field  also  he  has  found  it 
necessary  to  divide  the  work,  and  so  we  have  specialists 
for  almost  every  organ  of  the  body. 

2.     THE  NATUEE  OF  PERCEPTION 

How  a  Percept  is  Formed. — Mow,  then,  do  we  proceed 
to  the  discovery  of  this  world  of  objects?  Let  us  watch 
the  child  and  learn  the  secret  from  hira.  Give  the  babe 
a  ball,  and  he  applies  every  sense  to  it  to  discover  its 
qualities.  He  stares  at  it,  he  takes  it  in  his  hands  and 
turns  it  over  and  around,  lie  lifts  it,  he  strokes  it,  he 
punches  it  and  jabs  it,  he  puts  it  to  his  mouth  and  bites 
it,  he  drops  it,  he  throws  it  and  creeps  after  it.  He 
leaves  no  stoue  unturned  to  find  out  what  that  thing 
really  is.  By  means  of  the  qualities  which  come  to  him 
through  the  avenues  of  sense,  he  constructs  the  object. 
And  not  only  does  he  come  to  know  the  ball  as  a  ma- 
terial object,  but  he  comes  to  know  also  its  uses.  He  is 
forming  his  own  best  definition  of  a  ball  in  terms  of 
the  .sensations  which  he  gets  from  it  and  the  uses  to 
which  he  puts  it,  and  all  this  even  before  he  can  name 
it  or  is  abli'  to  recognize  its  name  when  he  hears  it.  How 
rnucli  better  his  method  than  the  one  he  will  have  to 
follow  a  little  later  when  he  goes  to  school  and  learns 


PERCEPTION  101 

that ' '  A  ball  is  a  spherical  body  of  any  substance  or  size, 
used  to  play  with,  as  by  throwing,  kicking,  or  knocking, 
etc.!" 

The  Percept  Involves  All  Relations  of  the  Object. — Nor 
is  the  case  in  the  least  different  with  ourselves.  When 
we  wish  to  learn  about  a  new  object  or  discover  new 
facts  about  an  old  one,  we  do  precisely  as  the  child  does 
if  we  are  wise.  We  apply  to  it  every  sense  to  which  it 
will  afford  a  stimulus,  and  finally  arrive  at  the  object 
through  its  various  qualities.  And  just  in  so  far  as  we 
have  failed  to  use  in  connection  with  it  every  sense  to 
which  it  can  minister,  just  in  that  degree  will  we  have 
an  incomplete  perception  of  it.  Indeed,  just  so  far  as 
we  have  failed  finally  to  perceive  it  in  terms  of  its  func- 
tions or  uses,  in  that  far  also  have  we  failed  to  know 
it  completely.  Tomatoes  were  for  many  years  grown 
as  ornamental  garden  plants  before  it  was  discovered 
that  the  tomatoes  could  minister  to  the  taste  as  well 
as  to  the  sight.  The  clothing  of  civilized  man  gives  the 
same  sensation  of  texture  and  color  to  the  savage  that 
it  does  to  its  owner,  but  he  is  so  far  from  perceiving  it  in 
the  same  way  that  he  packs  it  away  and  continues  to  go 
naked.  The  Orientals,  who  disdain  the  use  of  chairs 
and  prefer  to  sit  cross-legged  on  the  fioor,  can  never 
perceive  a  chair  just  as  we  do  who  use  chairs  daily,  and 
to  whom  chairs  are  so  saturated  with  social  suggestions 
and  associations. 

The  Content  of  the  Percept — The  percept,  then,  always 
contains  a  basis  of  sensation.  The  eye,  the  ear,  the 
skin  or  some  other  sense  organ  must  turn  in  its  supply  of 
sensory  material  or  there  can  be  no  percept.  But  the 
percept  contains  more  than  just  sensations.  Consider, 
for  example,  your  percept  of  an  automobile  flashing  past 
your  windows.    You  really  see  but  very  little  of  it,  yet 


102  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

you  perceive  it  as  a  very  familiar  vehicle.  All  that  your 
sense  organs  furnish  is  a  more  or  less  blurred  patch  of 
black  of  certain  size  and  contour,  one  or  more  objects  of 
somewhat  different  color  whom  you  know  to  be  passen- 
gers, and  various  sounds  of  a  whizzing,  chugging  or  roar- 
ing nature.  Your  former  experience  with  automobiles 
enables  you  to  associate  with  these  meager  sensory  de- 
tails the  upholstered  seats,  the  whirling  wheels,  the 
swaying  movement  and  whatever  else  belongs  to  the  full 
meaning  of  a  motor  car. 

The  percept  that  contained  only  sensory  material,  and 
lacked  all  memory  elements,  ideas  and  meanings,  would 
be  no  percept  at  all.  And  this  is  the  reason  why  a  young 
child  cannot  see  or  hear  like  ourselves.  It  lacks  the  as- 
sociative material  to  give  significance  and  meaning  to 
the  sensory  elements  supplied  by  the  end-organs.  The 
dependence  of  the  percept  on  material  from  past  ex- 
perience is  also  illustrated  in  the  common  statement  that 
what  one  gets  fro  in  an  art  exliibit  or  a  concert  depends 
on  what  he  brings  to  it.  He  who  brings.no  knowledge, 
no  memory,  no  images  from  other  pictures  or  music  will 
secure  but  relatively  barren  percepts,  consisting  of  little 
besides  the  mere  sensory  elements.  Truly,  "to  him  that 
hatli  sliall  be  given"  in  the  realm  of  perception. 

The  Accuracy  of  Percepts  Depends  on  Experience. — We 
must  perceive  objects  through  our  motor  response  to 
them  as  well  as  in  terms  of  sensations.  The  boy  who 
has  his  knowledge  of  a  tennis  racket  from  looking  at  one 
in  H  store  window,  or  indeed  from  handling  one  and 
looking  it  over  in  his  room,  can  never  know  a  tennis 
r;ieket  as  does  the  boy  who  plays  witli  it  on  the  court. 
Objects  g(!t  their  significance  not  alone  from  their  quali- 
ties, but  even  more  from  their  use  as  related  to  our  own 
activities. 


PERCEPTION  103 

Like  the  child,  we  must  get  our  knowledge  of  ob- 
jects, if  we  are  to  get  it  well,  from  the  objects  themselves 
at  first  hand,  and  not  second  hand  through  descriptions 
of  them  by  others.  The  fact  that  there  is  so  much 
of  the  material  world  about  us  that  we  can  never  hope 
to  learn  it  all,  has  made  it  necessary  to  put  do^^Ti  in 
books  many  of  the  things  which  have  been  discovered 
concerning  nature.  This  necessity  has,  I  fear,  led  many 
away  from  nature  itself  to  books — away  from  the  liv- 
ing reality  of  things  to  the  dead  embalming  cases  of 
words,  in  whose  empty  forms  we  see  so  little  of  the  sig- 
nificance which  resides  in  the  things  themselves.  We 
are  in  danger  of  being  satisfied  with  the  forms  of  knowl- 
edge without  its  substance — with  definitions  contained 
in  words  instead  of  in  qualities  and  uses. 

Not  Definitions,  But  First-hand  Contact. — In  like  man- 
ner we  come  to  know  distance,  form  and  size.  If  we 
have  never  become  acquainted  with  a  mile  by  actually 
walking  a  mile,  running  a  mile,  riding  a  bicycle  a  mile, 
driving  a  horse  a  mile,  or  traveling  a  mile  on  a  train,  we 
might  listen  for  a  long  time  to  someone  tell  how  far  a 
mile  is,  or  state  the  distance  from  Chicago  to  Denver, 
without  knowing  much  about  it  in  any  way  except  word 
definitions.  In  order  to  understand  a  mile,  we  must 
come  to  know  it  in  as  many  ways  as  possible  through 
sense  activities  of  our  own.  Although  many  children 
have  learned  that  it  is  25,000  miles  around  the  earth, 
probably  no  one  who  has  not  encircled  tlie  globe  has 
any  reasonably  accurate  notion  just  how  far  this  is.  For 
words  cannot  take  the  place  of  perceptions  in  giving  us 
knowledge.  In  the  case  of  shorter  distances,  the  same 
rule  holds.  The  eye  must  be  assisted  by  experience  of 
the  muscles  and  tendons  and  joints  in  actually  covering 
distance,  and  learn  to  associate  these  sensations  with 


104  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

those  of  the  eye  before  the  eye  alone  can  be  able  to  say, 
"That  tree  is  ten  rods  distant."  Form  and  size  are  to 
be  learned  in  the  same  way.  The  hands  must  actually 
touch  and  handle  the  object,  experiencing  its  hardness  or 
smoothness,  the  way  this  curve  and  that  angle  feels,  the 
amount  of  muscular  energy  it  takes  to  pass  the  hand 
over  this  surface  and  along  that  line,  the  eye  taking  note 
all  the  while,  before  the  eye  can  tell  at  a  glance  that 
yonder  object  is  a  sphere  and  that  this  surface  is  two 
feet  on  the  edge. 

3.     THE  PERCEPTION  OF  SPACE 

Many  have  been  the  philosophical  controversies  over 
the  nature  of  space  and  our  perception  of  it.  The  psy- 
chologists have  even  quarreled  concerning  whether  we 
possess  an  innate  sense  of  space,  or  whether  it  is  a  prod- 
uct of  experience  and  training.  Fortunately,  for  our 
present  purpose  we  shall  not  need  to  concern  ourselves 
with  either  of  these  controversies.  For  our  discussion 
we  may  accept  space  for  what  common  sense  under- 
stands it  to  be.  As  to  our  sense  of  space,  whatever  of 
this  we  may  possess  at  birth,  it  certainly  has  to  be  devel- 
oped by  use  and  experience  to  become  of  practical  value. 
In  the  perception  of  space  we  must  come  to  perceive 
distance,  direction,  size,  and  form.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
however,  size  is  but  so  much  distance,  and  form  is  but 
so  much  distance  in  this,  t.liat,  or  the  other  direction. 

The  Perceiving  of  Distance. — Unquestionably  the  eye 
comes  to  be  our  chief  dependence  in  determining  dis- 
tance. Yet  tlie  muscle  and  joint  senses  give  us  our  earli- 
est knowledge  of  distance.  Tiie  babe  reaches  for  the 
moon  simply  becau.se  the  eye  does  not  tell  it  that  the 
moon  is  out  of  reach.    Only  as  the  child  reaches  for  its 


PERCEPTION  105 

playthings,  creeps  or  walks  after  them,  and  in  a 
thousand  ways  uses  its  muscles  and  joints  in  measuring 
distance,  does  the  perception  of  distance  become  de- 
pendable. 

At  the  same  time  the  eye  is  slowly  developing  its  power 
of  judging  distance.  But  not  for  several  years  does 
visual  perception  of  distance  become  in  any  degree  ac- 
curate. The  e^^e  's  perception  of  distance  depends  in  part 
on  the  sensations  arising  from  the  muscles  controlling 
the  eye,  probably  in  part  from  the  adjustment  of  the 
lens,  and  in  part  from  the  retinal  image.  If  one  tries 
to  look  at  the  tip  of  his  nose  he  easily  feels  the  muscle 
strain  caused  by  the  required  angle  of  adjustment.  We 
come  unconsciously  to  associate  distance  with  the  muscle 
sensations  arising  from  the  different  angles  of  vision. 
The  part  played  by  the  retinal  image  in  judging  distance 
is  easily  understood  in  looking  at  two  trees,  one  thirty 
feet  and  the  other  three  hundred  feet  distant.  "We  note 
that  the  nearer  tree  shows  the  detail  of  the  bark  and 
leaves,  while  the  more  distant  one  lacks  this  detail.  The 
nearer  tree  also  reflects  more  light  and  color  than  the 
one  farther  away.  These  minute  differences,  registered 
as  they  are  on  the  retinal  image,  come  to  stand  for  so 
much  of  distance. 

The  ear  also  learns  to  perceive  distance  through  dif- 
ferences in  the  quality  and  the  intensity  of  sound.  Au- 
ditory perception  of  distance  is,  however,  never  very 
accurate. 

The  Perceiving  of  Direction. — The  motor  senses  prob- 
ably give  us  our  first  perception  of  direction,  as  they  do 
of  distance.  The  child  has  to  reach  this  way  or  that 
way  for  his  rattle ;  turn  the  eyes  or  head  so  far  in  order 
to  see  an  interesting  object;  twist  the  body,  crawl  or 
walk  to  one  side  or  the  other  to  secure  his  bottle.    In 


106  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

these  experiences  he  is  gaining  his  first  knowledge  of  di- 
rection. 

Along  with  these  muscle-joint  experiences,  the  eye  is 
also  being  trained.  The  position  of  the  image  on  the 
retina  comes  to  stand  for  direction,  and  the  eye  finally 
develops  so  remarkable  a  power  of  perceiving  direction 
that  a  picture  hung  a  half  inch  out  of  plumb  is  a  source 
of  annoyance.  The  ear  develops  some  skill  in  the  per- 
ception of  direction,  but  is  less  dependable  than  the  eye. 


4.     THE  PERCEPTION  OF  TIME 

The  philosophers  and  psychologists  agree  little  better 
about  our  sense  of  time  than  they  do  about  our  sense  of 
space.  Of  this  much,  however,  we  may  be  certain,  our 
perception  of  time  is  subject  to  development  and  train- 
ing. 

Nature  of  the  Time  Sense. — How  we  perceive  time  is 
not  so  well  understood  as  our  perception  of  space.  It  is 
evident,  however,  that  our  idea  of  time  is  simpler  than 
our  idea  of  spac(> — it  has  less  of  content,  less  that  we  can 
describe.  Probably  the  most  fundamental  part  of  our 
idea  of  time  is  progression,  or  change,  witliout  which  it 
is  difficult  to  think  of  time  at  all.  The  question  then 
becomes,  how  do  we  perceive  change,  or  succession? 

Tf  one  looks  in  upon  his  thought  stream  lie  finds  that 
the  movement  of  consciousness  is  not  uniformly  con- 
tinnons,  but  that  his  tliouglit  moves  in  pnlses,  or  short 
rushes,  .so  to  speak.  Wlicn  we  are  seeking  for  some  fact 
or  conclusion,  there  is  a  moment  of  expectancy,  or  pois- 
ing, and  tiien  the  leap  forward  to  the  desired  point,  or 
conclusion,  from  winch  an  inurKnliate  start  is  taken  for 
the  next  objectives  point  of  our  tli inking.  Ft  is  probable 
thill   ou?-  sense  of  the  few  seconds  of  passing  time  that 


PERCEPTION  107 

we  call  the  immediate  present  consists  of  the  recognition 
of  the  succession  of  these  pulsations  of  consciousness,  to- 
gether with  certain  organic  rhythms,  such  as  heart  beat 
and  breathing. 

No  Perception,  of  Empty  time. — Our  perception  does 
not  therefore  act  upon  empty  time.  Time  must  be  filled 
with  a  procession  of  events,  whether  these  be  within  our 
own  consciousness  or  in  the  objective  world  without. 
All  longer  periods  of  time,  such  as  hours,  days,  or  years, 
are  measured  by  the  events  which  they  contain.  Time 
filled  with  happenings  that  interest  and  attract  us  seems 
short  while  passing,  but  longer  when  looked  back  upon. 
On  the  other  hand,  time  relatively  empty  of  interesting 
experience  hangs  heavy  on  our  hands  in  passing,  but, 
viewed  in  retrospect,  seems  short.  A  fortnight  of  travel 
passes  more  quickly  than  a  fortnight  of  illness,  but 
yields  many  more  events  for  the  memory  to  review  as  the 
"filling"  for  time. 

Probably  no  one  has  any  very  accurate  feeling  of  the 
length,  that  is,  the  actual  duration  of  a  year — or  even 
of  a  month !  We  therefore  divide  time  into  convenient 
units,  as  weeks,  months,  years  and  centuries.  This  al- 
lows us  to  think  of  time  in  mathematical  terms  where 
immediate  perception  fails  in  its  grasp. 

5.     THE  TEAINING  OF  PERCEPTION 

In  the  physical  world  as  in  the  spiritual  there  are 
many  people  who,  "having  eyes,  see  not  and  ears,  hear 
not."  For  the  ability  to  perceive  accurately  and  richly 
in  the  world  of  physical  objects  depends  not  alone  on 
good  sense  organs,  but  also  on  interest  and  the  habit 
of  observation.  It  is  easy  if  we  are  indifferent  or  un- 
trained to  look  at  a  beautiful  landscape,  a  picture  or  a 


108  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

cathedral  without  seeing  it ;  it  is  easy  if  we  lack  interest 
or  skill  to  listen  to  an  orchestra  or  the  myriad  sounds  of 
nature  without  hearing  them. 

Perception  Needs  to  Be  Trained. — Training  in  percep- 
tion does  not  depend  entirely  on  the  work  of  the  school. 
For  the  world  about  us  exerts  a  constant  appeal  to  our 
senses.  A  thousand  sights,  sounds,  contacts,  tastes, 
smells  or  other  sensations,  hourlj'  throng  in  upon  us, 
and  the  appeal  is  irresistible.  AA^e  must  in  some  degree 
attend.    We  must  observe. 

Yet  it  cannot  be  denied  that  most  of  us  are  relatively 
unskilled  in  perception;  we  do  not  know  how,  or  take 
the  trouble  to  observe.  For  example,  a  stranger  was 
brought  into  the  classroom  and  introduced  by  the  in- 
structor to  a  class  of  fifty  college  students  in  psychology. 
The  class  thought  the  stranger  was  to  address  them,  and 
looked  at  him  with  mild  curiosity.  But,  after  standing 
before  them  for  a  few  moments,  he  suddenly  withdrew, 
as  had  been  arranged  by  the  instructor.  The  class  were 
then  asked  to  write  such  a  description  of  the  stranger 
as  would  enable  a  person  who  had  never  seen  him  to  iden- 
tify him.  But  so  poor  had  been  the  observation  of  the 
class  that  they  ascribed  to  him  clothes  of  four  different 
colors,  eyes  and  hair  each  of  throe  different  colors,  a  tie 
of  many  different  hues,  height  ranging  from  five  feet 
and  four  inches  to  over  six  feet,  age  from  twenty-eight 
to  forty-five  years,  and  many  other  details  as  wide  of 
the  mark.  Nor  is  it  probable  that  this  particular  class 
was  below  the  average  in  the  power  of  perception. 

School  Training  in  Perception. — The  school  can  do 
mucii  in  training  the  perception.  But  to  accomplish 
this,  the  child  must  constantly  be  bronght  into  immedi- 
ate contact  witl)  ihv.  physical  world  about  him  and  taught 
to  observe.     Books  nuist  not  be  substituted  for  things. 


PERCEPTION  109 

Definitions  must  not  take  the  place  of  experiment  or  dis- 
covery. Geography  and  nature  study  should  be  taught 
largely  out  of  doors,  and  the  lessons  assigned  should  take 
the  child  into  the  open  for  observation  and  investigation. 
All  things  that  live  and  grow,  the  sky  and  clouds,  the 
sunset  colors,  the  brown  of  upturned  soil,  the  smell  of 
the  clover  field,  or  the  new  mown  hay,  the  sounds  of  a 
summer  night,  the  distinguishing  marks  by  which  to 
identify  each  family  of  common  birds  or  breed  of  cat- 
tle— these  and  a  thousand  other  things  that  appeal  to 
us  from  the  simplest  environment  afford  a  rich  oppor- 
tunity for  training  the  perception.  And  he  who  has 
learned  to  observe,  and  who  is  alert  to  the  appeal  of 
nature,  has  no  small  part  of  his  education  already  as- 
sured. 

6.    PEOBLEIMS    IN    OBSEEVATION    AND    INTEOSPECTION 

1.  Test  your  power  of  observation  by  walking  rapidly  past 
a  well-filled  store  window  and  then  seeing  how  many  of  the 
objects  you  can  name. 

2.  Suppose  a  tailor,  a  bootblack,  a  physician,  and  a  detec- 
tive are  standing  on  the  street  corner  as  you  pass  by.  What 
will  each  one  be  most  likely  to  observe  about  you?     Why? 

3.  Obsei-ve  carefully  green  trees  at  a  distance  of  a  few 
rods ;  a  quarter  of  a  mile ;  a  mile ;  several  miles.  Describe  dif- 
ferences (1)  in  color,  (2)  in  brightness,  or  light,  and  (3)  in 
detail. 

4.  How  many  common  birds  can  you  identify?  How  many 
kinds  of  trees?     Of  wild  flowere?     Of  weeds? 

5.  Observe  the  work  of  an  elementary  school  for  tue  pur- 
pose of  detennining: 

a.  Whether  the  instruction  in  geography,  nature  study, 
agriculture,  etc.,  calls  for  the  use  of  the  eyes,  ears  and  fingers. 

b.  Whether  definitions  are  used  in  place  of  first-hand  in- 
formation in  any  subjects. 


110  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

c.  Whether  the  assignment  of  lessons  to  pupils  includes 
work  that  would  require  the  use  of  the  senses,  especially  out 
of  doors. 

d.  Whether  the  work  offered  in  arithmetic  demands  the  use 
of  the  senses  as  well  as  the  reason. 

e.  Whether  the  language  lessons  make  use  of  the  power  of 
observation. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

MENTAL  IMAGES  AND  IDEAS 

As  you  sit  thinking,  a  company  of  you  together,  your 
thoughts  run  in  many  diverse  lines.  Yet  with  all  this 
diversity,  your  minds  possess  this  common  characteris- 
tic: Though  your  thinking  all  takes  place  in  what  we 
call  the  present  moment,  it  goes  on  largely  in  term^ 
of  past  experiences. 

1.  THE  PAET  PLAYED  BY  PAST  EXPEEIENCE- 

Present  Thinking  Depends  on  Past  Experience. — Images 
or  ideas  of  things  you  have  seen  or  heard  or  felt;  of 
things  you  have  thought  of  before  and  which  now  recur 
to  you;  of  things  you  remember,  such  as  names,  dates, 
places,  events ;  of  things  that  you  do  not  remember  as  a 
part  of  your  past  at  all,  but  that  belong  to  it  neverthe- 
less— these  are  the  things  which  form  a  large  part  of 
your  mental  stream,  and  which  give  content  to  your 
thinking.  You  may  think  of  a  thing  that  is  going  on 
now,  or  of  one  that  is  to  occur  in  the  future ;  but,  after 
all,  you  are  dependent  on  your  past  experience  for  the 
material  which  you  put  into  your  thinking  of  the  pres- 
ent moment. 

Indeed,  nothing  can  enter  your  present  thinking  which 
does  not  link  itself  to  something  in  your  past  experience. 
The  savage  Indian  in  the  primeval  forest  never  thought 
about  killing  a  deer  with  a  rifle  merely  by  pulling  a 

Ul 


112  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

trigger,  or  of  turning  a  battery  of  machine  guns  on 
his  enemies  to  annihilate  them — none  of  these  things 
were  related  to  his  past  experience;  hence  he  could  not 
think  in  such  terms. 

The  Present  Interpreted  by  the  Past. — Not  only  can  we 
not  think  at  all  except  in  terms  of  our  past  experience, 
but  even  if  we  could,  the  present  would  be  meaningless 
to  us;  for  the  present  is  interpreted  in  the  light  of  the 
past.  The  sedate  man  of  affairs  who  decries  athletic 
sports,  and  has  never  taken  part  in  them,  cannot  under- 
stand the  wild  enthusiasm  which  prevails  between  rival 
teams  in  a  hotly  contested  event.  The  fine  work  of  art 
is  to  the  one  who  has  never  experienced  the  appeal  which 
comes  through  beauty,  only  so  much  of  canvas  and  varie- 
gated patches  of  color.  Paul  says  that  Jesus  was  ' '  unto 
the  Greeks,  foolishness."  He  was  foolishness  to  them 
because  nothing  in  their  experience  with  their  own  gods 
had  been  enough  like  the  character  of  Jesus  to  enable 
them  to  interpret  ITim. 

The  Future  Also  Depends  on  the  Past. — To  the  mind  in- 
capable of  using  past  experience,  the  future  also  would 
be  impossible;  for  we  can  look  forward  into  the  future 
only  by  placing  in  its  experiences  the  elements  of  which 
we  have  already  known.  The  savage  who  has  never 
seen  the  shining  yellow  metal  does  not  dream  of  a  heaven 
whose  streets  are  paved  with  gold,  but  rather  of  a 
"happy  hunting  ground."  If  you  will  analyze  your  own 
dreams  of  tlie  future  you  will  see  in  thorn  familiar  pic- 
tures perhaps  grouped  together  in  new  forms,  but  com- 
ing, in  their  elements,  from  your  past  experience  never- 
theless. All  that  would  remain  to  a  mind  devoid  of  a 
past  would  be  the  little  bridge  of  time  which  we  call  the 
"present  moment,"  a  series  of  unconnected  n^ws. 
Thought  would  be  impossible,  for  the  mind  would  have 


MENTAL  IMAGES  AND  IDEAS  113 

nothing  to  compare  and  relate.  Personality  would  not 
exist;  for  personality  requires  continuity  of  experience, 
else  we  should  be  a  new  person  each  succeeding  mo- 
ment, without  memory  and  without  plans.  Such  a  mind 
would  be  no  mind  at  all. 

Bank  Determined  by  Ability  to  Utilize  Past  Experience. 
— So  important  is  past  experience  in  determining  our 
present  thinking  and  guiding  our  future  actions,  that 
the  place  of  an  individual  in  the  scale  of  creation  is  de- 
termined largely  by  the  ability  to  profit  by  past  experi- 
ence. The  scientist  tells  us  of  many  species  of  animals 
aiow  extinct,  which  lost  their  lives  and  suffered  their 
•race  to  die  out  because  when,  long  ago,  the  climate  be- 
gan to  change  and  grow  much  colder,  they  were  un- 
able to  use  the  experience  of  suffering  in  the  last  cold 
season  as  an  incentive  to  provide  shelter,  or  move  to  a 
warmer  climate  against  the  coming  of  the  next  and  more 
rigorous  one.  Man  was  able  to  make  the  adjustment; 
and,  providing  himself  with  clothing  and  shelter  and 
food,  he  survived,  while  myriads  of  the  lower  forms  per- 
ished. 

The  singed  moth  again  and  again  dares  the  flame 
which  tortures  it,  and  at  last  gives  its  life,  a  sacrifice  to 
its  folly;  the  burned  child  fears  the  fire,  and  does  not 
the  second  time  seek  the  experience.  So  also  can  the  effi- 
ciency of  an  individual  or  a  nation,  as  compared  with 
other  individuals  or  nations,  be  determined.  The  ineffi- 
cient are  those  who  repeat  the  same  error  or  useless  act 
over  and  over,  or  else  fail  to  repeat  a  chance  useful  act 
whose  repetition  might  lead  to  success.  They  are  unable 
to  learn  their  lesson  and  be  guided  by  experience.  Their 
past  does  not  sufficiently  minister  to  their  present,  and 
through  it  direct  their  future. 


114  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

2.    HOW  PAST  EXPERIENCE  IS  CONSERVED 

Past  Experience  Conserved  in  Both  Mental  and  Physical 
Terms. — If  past  experience  plays  so  important  a  part  in 
our  welfare,  how,  then,  is  it  to  be  conserved  so  that  we 
may  secure  its  benefits  ?  Here,  as  elsewhere,  we  find  the 
mind  and  body  working  in  perfect  unison  and  harmony, 
each  doing  its  part  to  further  the  interests  of  both.  The 
results  of  our  past  experience  may  be  read  in  both  our 
mental  and  our  physical  nature. 

On  the  physical  side  past  experience  is  recorded  in 
modified  structure  through  the  law  of  habit  working  on 
the  tissues  of  the  body,  and  particularly  on  the  delicate 
tissues  of  the  brain  and  nervous  system.  This  is  easily 
seen  in  its  outward  aspects.  The  stooped  shoulders  and 
bent  form  of  the  workman  tell  a  tale  of  physical  toil 
and  exposure;  the  bloodless  lips  and  pale  face  of  the 
victim  of  tlie  city  sweat  shop  tell  of  foul  air,  long  hours, 
and  insufficient  food ;  the  rosy  cheek  and  bounding  step 
of  childhood  speak  of  fresh  air,  good  food  and  happy 

play. 

On  the  mental  side  past  experience  is  conserved  chiefly 
by  means  of  images,  ideas,  and  concepts.  The  nature 
and  function  of  concepts  will  be  discussed  in  a  later 
chapter.  It  will  now  be  our  purpose  to  examine  the 
nature  of  images  and  ideas,  and  to  note  the  part  they 
play  in  the  mind's  activities. 

The  Image  and  the  Idea, — To  understand  the  nature  of 
the  image,  and  then  of  the  idea,  we  may  best  go  back  to 
the  percept.  Vou  look  at  a  watch  wliich  I  hold  before 
your  eyes  and  secure  a  percept  of  it.  Briefly,  this  is 
what  happens:  The  light  reflected  from  the  yellow 
object,  on  striking  the  retina,  results  in  a  nerve  cur- 
rent which  sets  up  a  certain  form  of  activity  in  the 


MENTAL  IMAGES  AND  IDEAS  115 

cells  of  the  visual  brain  area,  and  lo!  a  percept  of  the 
watch  flashes  in  your  mind. 

Now  I  put  the  watch  in  ray  pocket,  so  that  the  stimu- 
lus is  no  longer  present  to  your  eye.  Then  I  ask  you 
to  think  of  my  watch  just  as  it  appeared  as  you  were 
looking-  at  it ;  or  you  may  yourself  choose  to  think  of  it 
without  my  suggesting  it  to  you.  In  either  case  the 
cellular  activity  in  the  visual  area  of  the  cortex  is  re- 
produced approximately  as  it  occurred  in  connection 
with  the  percept,  and  lo !  an  image  of  the  watch  flashes 
in  your  mind.  An  image  is  thus  an  approximate  copy 
of  a  former  percept  (or  several  percepts).  It  is  aroused 
indirectly  by  means  of  a  nerve  current  coming  by  way 
of  some  other  brain  center,  instead  of  directly  by  the 
stimulation  of  a  sense  organ,  as  in  the  case  of  a  percept. 

If,  instead  of  seeking  a  more  or  less  exact  mental  pic- 
ture of  my  watch,  you  only  think  of  its  general  meaning 
and  relations,  the  fact  that  it  is  of  gold,  that  it  is  for 
the  purpose  of  keeping  time,  that  it  was  a  present  to 
me,  that  I  wear  it  in  my  left  pocket,  you  then  have  an 
idea  of  the  watch.  Our  idea  of  an  object  is,  therefore, 
the  general  meaning  of  relations  we  ascribe  to  it.  It 
should  be  remembered,  however,  that  the  terms  image 
and  idea  are  employed  rather  loosely,  and  that  there  is 
not  yet  general  uniformity  among  writers  in  their  use. 

All  Our  Past  Experience  Potentially  at  Our  Cominand. — 
Images  may  in  a  certain  sense  take  the  place  of  per- 
cepts, and  we  can  again  experience  sights,  sounds,  tastes, 
and  smells  which  we  have  known  before,  without  having 
the  stimuli  actually  present  to  the  senses.  In  this  way 
all  our  past  experience  is  potentially  available  to  the 
present.  All  the  objects  we  have  seen,  it  is  potentially 
possible  again  to  see  in  the  mind's  eye  without  being 
obliged  to  have  the  objects  before  us ;  all  the  sounds  we 


116  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

have  heard,  all  the  tastes  and  smells  and  temperatures 
we  have  experienced,  we  may  again  have  presented  to 
our  minds  in  the  form  of  mental  images  without  the 
various  stimuli  being  present  to  the  end-organs  of  the 
senses. 

Through  images  and  ideas  the  total  number  of  objects 
in  our  experience  is  infinitely  multiplied ;  for  many  of 
the  things  we  have  seen,  or  heard,  or  smelled,  or  tasted, 
we  cannot  again  have  present  to  the  senses,  and  without 
this  power  we  would  never  get  them  again.  And  besides 
this  fact,  it  would  be  inconvenient  to  have  to  go  and 
secure  afresh  each  sensation  or  percept  every  time  we 
need  to  use  it  in  our  thought.  While  habit,  then,  con- 
serves our  past  experience  on  tlie  physical  side,  the  im- 
age and  the  idea  do  the    same  thing  on  the  mental  side. 

3.     INDIVIDUAL  DIFFERENCES  IN  IMAGERY 

Images  to  Be  Viewed  by  Introspection. — The  remainder 
of  the  description  of  images  will  be  easier  to  understand, 
for  each  of  you  can  know  just  what  is  meant  in  every 
case  by  appealing  to  your  own  mind.  I  beg  of  you  not 
to  think  that  I  am  presenting  something  new  and  strange, 
a  curiosity  connected  with  our  thinking  which  has  been 
dis('0vcr<>d  by  scholars  who  have  delved  more  deeply  into 
the  matter  than  we  can  hope  to  do.  Every  day — no, 
more  than  that,  every  hour  and  every  moment — these 
iniag(!s  are  flitting  tlirough  oui-  minds,  forming  a  large 
part  of  our  slrcnm  of  consciousness.  Let  ns  see  whether 
we  can  luiii  oiir  attention  within  and  discover  some  of 
our  images  in  their  flight.     Let  us  introspect. 

I  know  of  no  Ix'tvter  way  to  proceed  than  that  adopted 
by  Francis  rjalton  years  ago,  when  he  asked  the  English 
men  f)f  letters  and  science  to  think  of  their  breakfast 


MENTAL  EVIAGES  AND  IDEAS  117 

tables,  and  then  describe  the  images  which  appeared. 
I  am  about  to  ask  each  one  of  you  to  do  the  same  thing, 
but  I  want  to  warn  you  beforehand  that  the  images  will 
not  be  so  vivid  as  the  sensory  experiences  themselves. 
They  will  be  much  fainter  and  more  vague,  and  less  clear 
and  definite ;  they  will  be  fleeting,  and  must  be  caught  on 
the  wing.  Often  the  image  may  fade  entirely  out,  and 
the  idea  only  be  left. 

The  Varied  Imagery  Suggested  by  One's  Dining  Table. 
— Let  each  one  now  recall  the  dining  table  as  you  last 
left  it,  and  then  answer  questions  concerning  it  like 
the  following: 

Can  I  see  clearly  in  my  ' '  mind 's  eye ' '  the  whole  table 
as  it  stood  spread  before  me?  Can  I  see  all  parts  of  it 
equally  clearly?  Do  I  get  the  snowy  white  and  gloss 
of  the  linen?  The  delicate  coloring  of  the  china,  so 
that  I  can  see  where  the  pink  shades  off  into  the  white  ? 
The  graceful  lines  and  curves  of  the  dishes?  The  sheen 
of  the  silver?  The  brown  of  the  toast?  The  yellow 
of  the  cream  ?  The  rich  red  and  dark  green  of  the  bou- 
quet of  roses  ?    The  sparkle  of  the  glassware  ? 

Can  I  again  hear  the  rattle  of  the  dishes?  The  clink 
of  the  spoon  against  the  cup?  The  moving  up  of  the 
chairs?  The  chatter  of  the  voices,  each  with  its  own 
peculiar  pitch  and  quality?  The  twitter  of  a  bird 
outside  the  window  ?  The  tinkle  of  a  distant  bell  ?  The 
chirp  of  a  neighborly  cricket  ? 

Can  I  taste  clearly  the  milk  ?  The  coffee  ?  The  eggs  ? 
The  bacon?  The  rolls?  The  butter?  The  jelly?  The 
fruit  ?  Can  I  get  the  appetizing  odor  of  the  coffee  ?  Of 
the  meat?  The  oranges  and  bananas?  The  perfume  of 
the  lilac  bush  outside  the  door?  The  perfume  from  a 
handkerchief  newly  treated  to  a  spray  of  heliotrope? 

Can  I  recall  the  touch  of  my  fingers  on  the  velvety 


118  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

peach?  On  the  smooth  skin  of  an  apple?  On  the  fret- 
ted glassware?  The  feel  of  the  fresh  linen?  The  con- 
tact of  leather-covered  or  cane-seated  chair?  Of  the 
freshly  donned  garment?  Can  I  get  clearly  the  tem- 
perature of  the  hot  coffee  in  the  mouth  ?  Of  the  hot  dish 
on  the  hand?  Of  the  ice  water?  Of  the  grateful  cool- 
ness of  the  breeze  wafted  in  through  the  open  window? 

Can  I  feel  again  the  strain  of  muscle  and  joint  in  pass- 
ing the  heavy  dish?  Can  I  feel  the  movement  of  the 
jaws  in  chewing  the  beefsteak?  Of  the  throat  and  lips 
in  talking?  Of  the  chest  and  diaphragm  in  laughing? 
Of  the  muscles  in  sitting  and  rising?  In  hand  and  arm 
in  using  knife  and  fork  and  spoon  ?  Can  I  get  again  the 
sensation  of  pain  which  accompanied  biting  on  a  ten- 
der tooth?  From  the  shooting  of  a  drop  of  acid  from 
the  rind  of  the  orange  into  the  eye?  The  chance  ache 
in  the  head?  The  pleasant  feeling  connected  with  the 
exhilaration  of  a  beautiful  morning?  The  feeling  of 
perfect  health?  The  pleasure  connected  with  partaking 
of  a  favorite  food? 

Power  of  Imagery  Varies  in  Different  People. — It  is 
more  than  probable  that  some  of  you  cannot  get  per- 
fectly clear  images  in  all  those  lines,  certainly  not  with 
equal  facility ;  for  the  imagery  from  any  one  sense  varies 
greatly  from  person  to  person.  A  celebrated  painter  was 
able,  after  placing  his  subject  in  a  chair  and  looking  at 
him  attentively  for  a  few  minutes,  to  dismiss  the  sub- 
ject and  paint  a  perfect  likeness  of  him  from  the  visual 
iuuig(?  wliich  recurred  to  the  artist  every  time  he  turned 
his  eyes  to  the  chair  where  the  sitter  had  l)('en  placed. 
On  tbo  otber  hand,  a  young  lady,  a  student  in  my  psy- 
chology class,  tells  me  Ihat  she  is  never  able  to  recall 
the  looks  of  her  mother  wlien  she  is  absent,  even  if  the 
sc^paration  has  been  only  for  a  few  moments.     She  can 


MENTAL  IMAGES  AND  IDEAS  119 

get  an  image  of  the  form,  with  the  color  and  cut  of  the 
dress,  but  never  the  features.  One  person  may  be  able 
to  recall  a  large  part  of  a  concert  through  his  auditory 
imagery,  and  another  almost  none. 

In  general  it  may  be  said  that  the  power,  or  at  least 
the  use,  of  imagery  decreases  with  age.  The  writer  has 
made  a  somewhat  extensive  study  of  the  imagery  of  cer- 
tain high-school  students,  college  students,  and  special- 
ists in  psychology  averaging  middle  age.  Almost  with- 
out exception  it  was  found  that  clear  and  vivid  images 
played  a  smaller  part  in  the  thinking  of  the  older  group 
than  of  the  younger.  More  or  less  abstract  ideas  and 
concepts  seemed  to  have  taken  the  place  of  the  concrete 
imagery  of  earlier  years. 

Imagery  Types. — Although  there  is  some  difference  in 
our  ability  to  use  imagery  of  different  sensory  types, 
probably  there  is  less  variation  here  than  has  been  sup- 
posed. Earlier  pedagogical  works  spoke  of  the  visual 
type  of  mind,  or  the  audile  type,  or  the  motor  type,  as  if 
the  possession  of  one  kind  of  imagery  necessarily  ren- 
dered a  person  short  in  other  types.  Later  studies  have 
shown  this  view  incorrect,  however.  The  person  who 
has  good  images  of  one  type  is  likely  to  excel  in  all 
types,  while  one  who  is  lacking  in  any  one  of  the  more 
important  types  will  probably  be  found  short  in  all.^ 
Most  of  us  probably  make  more  use  of  visual  and  audi- 
tory than  of  other  kinds  of  imagery,  while  olfactory  and 
gustatory  images  seem  to  play  a  minor  role. 

4.     THE  FUNCTION  OF  IMAGES 

Binet  says  that  the  man  who  has  not  every  type  of 
imagery  almost  equally  well  developed  is  only  the  frac- 
See  Betts,  "Tlie  Distribution  and  Functions  of  Mental  Imagery." 


120  THE  JVHND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

tion  of  a  man.  While  this  no  doubt  puts  the  matter  too 
strongly,  yet  images  do  play  an  important  part  in  our 
thinking. 

Images  Supply  Material  for  Imagination  and  Memory. 
— Imagery  supplies  the  pictures  from  which  imagina- 
tion builds  its  structures.  Given  a  rich  supply  of  im- 
ages from  the  various  senses,  and  imagination  has  the 
material  necessary  to  construct  times  and  events  long 
since  past,  or  to  fill  the  future  with  plans  or  experi- 
ences not  yet  reached.  Lacking  images,  however,  im- 
agination is  handicapped,  and  its  meager  products  re- 
veal in  tlieir  barrenness  and  their  lack  of  warmth  and 
reality  the  poverty  of  material. 

Much  of  our  memory  also  takes  the  form  of  images. 
The  face  of  a  friend,  the  sound  of  a  voice,  or  the  touch 
of  a  hand  may  be  recalled,  not  as  a  mere  fact,  but  with 
almost  the  freshness  and  fidelity  of  a  percept.  That 
much  of  our  memory  goes  on  in  tlie  form  of  ideas  in- 
stead, of  images  is  true.  But  memory  is  often  both  aided 
in  its  accuracy  and  rendered  more  vital  and  signifi- 
cant through  the  prosonco  of  abundant  imagery. 

Imagery  in  the  Thought  Processes. — Since  logical 
thinking  deals  more  with  relations  and  meanings  than 
witli  particular  objects,  images  naturally  pla}'^  a  smaller 
part  in  reasoning  than  in  memory  and  imagination.  Yet 
they  have  their  place  here  as  well.  Students  of  geometry 
or  trigonometry  often  have  difficulty  in  understanding 
a  theorem  until  they  succeed  in  visualizing  the  surface 
or  solid  involved.  Thinking  in  the  field  of  astronomy, 
mechanics,  and  many  other  sciences  is  assisted  at  cer- 
tain points  by  the  ability  to  form  clear  and  accurate  im- 
ages. 

The  Use  of  Imagery  in  Literature. — Facility  in  the  use 
of   imagery  undoubtedly  adds  much   to  our  enjoyment 


MENTAL  IMAGES  AND  IDEAS  121 

and  appreciation  of  certain  forms  of  literature.  The 
great  writers  commonly  use  all  types  of  images  in  their 
description  and  narration.  If  we  are  not  able  to  employ 
the  images  they  used,  many  of  their  most  beautiful  pic- 
tures are  likely  to  be  to  us  but  so  many  words  suggesting 
prosaic  ideas. 

Shakespeare,  describing  certain  beautiful  music,  ap- 
peals to  the  sense  of  smell  to  make  himself  understood: 

...  it  came  o'er  my  ear  like  the  sweet  sound 
That  breathes  upon  a  bank  of  violets, 
SteaUng  and  giving  odor! 

Lady  Macbeth  cries : 

Here's  the  smell  of  the  blood  still: 
All  the  perfumes  of  Arabia  will  not  sweeten 
this  little  hand. 

Milton  has  Eve  say  of  her  dream  of  the  fatal  apple: 

.  .  .  The  pleasant  sav'ry  smell 

So  quickened  appetite,  that  I,  methought, 

Could  not  but  taste. 

Likewise  with  the  sense  of  touch : 

...  I  take  thy  hand,  this  hand 

As  soft  as  dove's  down,  and  as  white  as  it. 

Imagine  a  person  devoid  of  delicate  tactile  imagery, 
with  senseless  finger  tips  and  leaden  footsteps,  undertak- 
ing to  interpret  these  exquisite  lines: 

Thus  I  set  my  printless  feet 


122  THE  MIND  Al^D  ITS  EDUCATION 

O'er  the  cowslip's  velvet  head, 
That  bends  not  as  I  tread. 

Shakespeare  thus  appeals  to  the  muscular  imagery ; 

At  last,  a  little  shaking  of  mine  ai'm 

And  thrice  his  head  thus  waving-  np  and  down, 

He  raised  a  sigh  so  piteous  and  profound 

As  it  did  seem  to  shatter  all  his  bulk 

And  end  his  being. 

Many  passages  like  the  following  appeal  to  the  tem- 
perature images: 

Freeze,  freeze,  thou  bitter  sky. 
Thou  dost  not  bite  so  nigh 
As  benefits  forgot! 


'&'■ 


To  one  whose  auditory  imagery  is  meager,  the  follow- 
ing lines  will  lose  something  of  their  beauty : 

How  sweet  the  moonlight  sleeps  upon  this  bank! 
Here  we  will  sit  and  lot  the  sounds  of  music 
Creep  in  our  ears;  soft  stillness  and  the  night 
Become  the  touches  of  sweet  harmony. 

Note  how  much  clear  images  will  add  to  Browning's 
words : 

Are  there  not  two  moments  in  I  lie  adventure  of  a  diver — 
one  when  a  beggar  he  prepares  to  plunge,  and  one,  when  a 
prince  he  rises  with  his  pearl? 

Points  Where  Images  Are  of  Greatest  Service. — Beyond 
(|U('stion,  many  images  conic  Hooding  into  our  minds 
which  ar(^  irrelevant  and  of  no  service  in  our  thinking. 
No  one  has  failed  to  note  many  such.    Further,  we  un- 


MENTAL  IMAGES  AND  IDEAS  123 

doubtedly  do  much  of  our  best  thinking  with  few  or  no 
images  present.  Yet  we  need  images.  Where,  then, 
are  they  most  needed?  Images  are  needed  ivhcrever  the 
percepts  ivhicJi  they  represent  would  he  of  service. 
Whatever  one  coukl  better  understand  or  enjoy  or  ap- 
preciate by  seeing  it,  hearing  it,  or  perceiving  it  through 
some  other  sense,  he  can  better  understand,  enjoy  or 
appreciate  through  images  than  by  means  of  ideas  only. 

5.     THE  CULTIVATION  OF  IMAGERY 

Images  Depend  on  Sensory  Stimuli. — The  power  of 
imaging  can  be  cultivated  the  same  as  any  other  abil- 
ity. 

In  the  first  place,  we  may  put  down  as  an  absolute 
requisite  s^ich  an  environment  of  sensory  stimuli  as  will 
tempt  every  sense  to  he  awake  and  at  its  hest,  that  we 
may  be  led  into  a  large  acquaintance  with  the  objects 
of  our  material  environment.  No  one 's  stock  of  sensory 
images  is  greater  than  the  sum  total  of  his  sensory 
experiences.  No  one  ever  has  images  of  sights,  or  sounds, 
or  tastes,  or  smells  which  he  has  never  experienced. 

Likewise,  he  must  have  had  the  fullest  and  freest  pos- 
sible liberty  in  motor  activities.  For  not  only  is  the 
motor  act  itself  made  possible  through  the  office  of  im- 
agery, but  the  motor  act  clarifies  and  makes  useful  the 
images.  The  boy  who  has  actually  made  a  table,  or  a 
desk,  or  a  box  has  ever  afterward  a  different  and  a  better 
image  of  one  of  these  objects  than  before ;  so  also  when 
he  has  owned  and  ridden  a  bicycle,  his  image  of  this 
machine  will  have  a  different  significance  from  that  of 
the  image  founded  upon  the  visual  perception  alone  of 
the  wheel  he  longingly  looked  at  through  the  store  win- 
dow or  in  the  other  boy's  dooryard. 


124  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

The  Influence  of  Frequent  E.ecall. — But  sensory  expe- 
riences and  motor  responses  alone  are  not  enough, 
though  they  are  the  basis  of  good  imagery.  There  must 
he  frequent  recall.  The  sunset  may  have  been  never  so 
brilliant,  and  the  music  never  so  entrancing ;  but  if  they 
are  never  thought  of  and  dwelt  upon  after  they  were 
first  experienced,  little  will  remain  of  them  after  a  very 
short  time.  It  is  by  repeating  them  often  in  experience 
through  imagery  that  they  become  fixed,  so  that  they 
stand  ready  to  do  our  bidding  when  we  need  next  to 
use  them. 

The  Reconstruction  of  Our  Images. — To  richness  of  ex- 
perience and  frequency  of  the  recall  of  our  images  we 
must  add  one  more  factor;  namely,  that  of  their  reco)i- 
struction  or  working  over.  Few  if  any  images  are  ex- 
act recalls  of  former  percepts  of  objects.  Indeed,  such 
would  be  neither  possible  nor  desirable.  The  images 
which  we  recall  are  recalled  for  a  purpose,  or  in  view 
of  some  future  activity,  and  hence  must  be  selective, 
or  made  up  of  the  elements  of  several  or  many  former 
related  images. 

Thus  the  boy  who  wishes  to  construct  a  box  without  a 
pattern  to  follow  recalls  the  images  of  numerous  boxes 
he  may  have  seen,  and  from  tliem  all  he  has  a  new  image 
made  over  from  many  former  percepts  and  images,  and 
this  new  image  serves  him  as  a  working  model.  In  this 
way  he  not  only  gets  a  copy  which  he  can  follow  to  make 
his  box,  but  he  also  secures  a  new  product  in  the  form 
of  an  image  different  from  any  he  ever  had  before,  and 
is  therefore  by  so  much  tiie  richer.  It  is  this  working 
ovor  of  our  stock  of  old  images  into  new  and  richer  and 
more  suggestive  ones  that  constitutes  the  essence  of 
construct ivo  imagination. 

The  more  types  of  inuigery  into  which  we  can  put  our 


MENTAL  IMAGES  AND  IDEAS  125 

thought,  the  more  fully  is  it  ours  and  the  better  our 
images.  The  spelling  lesson  needs  not  only  to  be  taken 
in  through  the  eye,  that  we  may  retain  a  visual  image 
of  the  words,  but  also  to  be  recited  orally,  so  that  the 
ear  may  furnish  an  auditory  image,  and  the  organs  of 
speech  a  motor  image  of  the  correct  forms.  It  needs 
also  to  be  written,  and  thus  given  into  the  keeping  of  the 
hand,  which  finally  needs  most  of  all  to  know  and  retain 
it. 

The  reading  lesson  should  be  taken  in  through  both  the 
eye  and  the  ear,  and  then  expressed  by  means  of  voice 
and  gesture  in  as  full  and  complete  a  way  as  possible, 
that  it  may  be  associated  with  motor  images.  The  geog- 
raphy lesson  needs  not  only  to  be  read,  but  to  be  drawn, 
or  molded,  or  constructed.  The  history  lesson  should 
be  made  to  appeal  to  every  possible  form  of  imagery. 
The  arithmetic  lesson  must  be  not  only  computed,  but 
measured,  weighed,  and  pressed  into  actual  service. 

Thus  we  might  carry  the  illustration  into  every  line 
of  education  and  experience,  and  the  same  truth  holds. 
What  we  desire  to  comprehend  completely  and  retain 
well,  ive  must  apprehend  tJiroiigh  all  available  semises  and 
conserve  in  every  possible  type  of  image  and  farm  of  ex- 
pression. 

6.     PEOBLEMS   IN   INTROSPECTION  AND   OBSERVATION 

1.  Observe  a  reading  class  and  try  to  determine  whether 
the  pupils  picture  the  scenes  and  events  they  read  about. 
How  can  you  tell? 

2.  Similarly  observe  a  history  class.  Do  the  pupils  realize 
the  events  as  actually  happening,  and  the  personages  as  real, 
living  people? 

3.  Obsei've  in  a  similar  way  a  class  in  geography,  and 
•draw  conclusions.     A  pupil  in  computing  the  cost  of  plaster- 


126  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

ing  a  certain  room  based  the  figures  on  the  room  filled  full  of 
plaster.     How  might  visual  imagery  have  saved  the  error? 

4.  Imagfine  a  three-inch  cube.  Paint  it.  Then  saw  it  up 
into  inch  cubes,  lea\'ing  them  all  standing  in  the  original 
form.  How  many  inch  cubes  have  paint  on  three  faces"?  How 
many  on  two  faces?  How  many  on  one  face?  How  many 
have  no  paint  on  them?  Answer  all  these  questions  by  re- 
ferring to  your  imagery  alone. 

5.  Try  often  to  recall  images  in  the  various  sensorj'^  lines; 
determine  in  what  classes  of  images  you  are  least  proficient 
and  ti-y  to  improve  in  these  lines. 

6.  How  is  the  singing  teacher  able,  after  his  class  has 
sung  through  several  scores,  to  tell  that  they  are  flatting? 

7.  Study  your  imagei-y  carefully  for  a  few  days  to  see 
whether  you  can  discover  your  predominating  type  of  im- 
agery. 


CHAPTER   IX 

IMAGINATION 

Everyone  desires  to  have  a  good  imagination,  yet  not 
all  would  agree  as  to  what  constitutes  a  good  imagina- 
tion. If  I  were  to  ask  a  group  of  you  whether  you  have 
good  imaginations,  many  of  you  would  probably  at  once 
fall  to  considering  whether  you  are  capable  of  taking 
wild  flights  into  impossible  realms  of  thought  and  evolv- 
ing unrealities  out  of  airy  nothings.  You  would  com- 
pare yourself  with  great  imaginative  writers,  such  as 
Stevenson,  Poe,  De  Quincey,  and  judge  your  power  of 
imagination  by  your  ability  to  produce  such  tales  as 
made  them  famous. 

1.     THE  PLACE  OF  IMAGINATION  IN  MENTAL  ECONOMY 

But  such  a  measure  for  the  imagination  as  that  just 
stated  is  far  too  narrow.  A  good  imagination,  like  a 
good  memory,  is  the  one  which  serves  its  owner  best. 
If  DeQuincey  and  Poe  and  Stevenson  and  Bulwer  found 
the  type  which  led  them  into  such  dizzy  flights  the  best 
for  their  particular  purpose,  well  and  good ;  but  that  is 
not  saying  that  their  type  is  the  best  for  you,  or  that  you 
may  not  rank  as  high  in  some  other  field  of  imaginative 
power  as  they  in  theirs.  While  you  may  lack  in  their 
particular  type  of  imagination,  they  may  have  been 
short  in  the  type  which  will  one  day  make  you  famous. 
The    artisan,   the   architect,   the  merchant,   the   artist, 

127 


128  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

the  farmer,  the  teacher,  the  professional  man — all  need 
imagmation  in  their  vocations  not  less  than  the  writers 
need  it  in  theirs,  but  each  needs  a  specialized  kind 
adapted  to  the  particular  work  which  he  has  to  do. 

Practical  Nature  of  Imagination. — Imagination  is  not 
a  process  of  thought  which  must  deal  chiefly  with  un- 
realities and  impossibilities,  and  which  has  for  its  chief 
end  our  amusement  when  we  have  nothing  better  to  do 
than  to  follow  its  wanderings.  It  is,  rather,  a  common- 
place, necessary  process  which  illumines  the  way  for  our 
everyday  thinking  and  acting — a  process  without  which 
we  think  and  act  by  haphazard  chance  or  blind  imita- 
tion. It  is  the  process  by  which  the  images  from  our 
past  experiences  are  marshaled,  and  made  to  serve  our 
present.  Imagination  looks  into  the  future  and  con- 
structs our  patterns  and  lays  our  plans.  It  sets  up  our 
ideals  and  pictures  us  in  the  acts  of  achieving  them. 
It  enables  us  to  live  our  joys  and  our  sorrows,  our  vic- 
tories and  our  defeats  before  we  reach  them.  It  looks 
into  the  past  and  allows  us  to  live  with  the  kings  and 
seers  of  old,  or  it  goes  back  to  the  beginning  and  we  see 
things  in  the  process  of  the  making.  It  comes  into  our 
present  and  plays  a  part  in  every  act  from  the  simplest 
to  the  most  complex.  It  is  to  the  mental  stream  what 
the  light  is  to  the  traveler  who  carries  it  as  he  passes 
through  the  darkness,  while  it  casts  its  beams  in  all  di- 
rections iiround  him,  lighting  up  what  otherwise  would 
be  intolerable  gloom. 

Imagination  in  the  Interpretation  of  History,  Litera- 
ture, and  Art. — Let  us  see  some  of  the  most  connnon  uses 
of  the  iniagination.  Suppose  I  describe  to  you  the  bat- 
tle of  the  Marne.  Unless  yon  can  take  the  images  which 
my  words  snggcst  and  build  them  into  struggling,  shout- 
ing, bhicding  soldiers;  into  forts  and  entanglements  and 


IMAGINATION  129 

breastworks;  into  roaring  cannon  and  whistling  bullet 
and  screaming  shell — unless  you  can  take  all  these  sep- 
arate images  and  out  of  them  get  one  great  unified  com- 
plex, then  my  description  will  be  to  you  only  so  many 
words  largely  without  content,  and  you  will  lack  the 
power  to  comprehend  the  historical  event  in  any  com- 
plete way.  Unless  you  can  read  the  poem,  and  out  of 
the  images  suggested  by  the  words  reconstruct  the  pic- 
ture which  was  in  the  mind  of  the  author  as  he  wrote 
"The  Village  Blacksmith"  or  "Snowbound,"  the  sig- 
nificance will  have  dropped  out,  and  the  throbbing  scenes 
of  life  and  action  become  only  so  many  dead  words, 
like  the  shell  of  the  chrysalis  after  the  butterfly  has  left 
its  shroud.  Without  the  power  of  imagination,  the  his- 
tory of  Washington's  winter  at  Valley  Forge  becomes  a 
mere  formal  recital,  and  you  can  never  get  a  view  of 
the  snow-covered  tents,  the  wind-swept  landscape,  the 
tracks  in  the  snow  marked  by  the  telltale  drops  of  blood, 
or  the  form  of  the  heartbroken  commander  as  he  kneels 
in  the  silent  wood  to  pray  for  his  army.  Without  the 
power  to  construct  this  picture  as  you  read,  you  may 
commit  the  words,  and  be  able  to  recite  them,  and  to 
pass  examination  upon  them,  but  the  living  reality  of  it 
will  forever  escape  you. 

Your  power  of  imagination  determines  your  ability  to 
interpet  literature  of  all  kinds ;  for  the  interpretation  of 
literature  is  nothing,  after  all,  but  the  reconstniction  on 
our  part  of  the  pictures  with  their  meanings  which  were 
in  the  mind  of  the  writer  as  he  penned  the  words,  and 
the  experiencing  of  the  emotions  which  moved  him  as 
he  wi'ote.  Small  use  indeed  to  read  the  history  of  the 
centuries  unless  we  can  see  in  it  living,  acting  people, 
and  real  events  occurring  in  actual  environments.  Small 
use  to  read  the  world's  great  books  unless  their  char- 


130  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

acters  are  to  us  real  men  and  women — our  brothers  and 
sisters,  interpreted  to  us  by  the  master  minds  of  the 
ages.  Anything  less  than  this,  and  we  are  no  longer 
dealing  with  literature,  but  with  words — like  musical 
sounds  which  deal  with  no  theme,  or  like  picture  frames 
in  which  no  picture  has  been  set.  Nor  is  the  case  differ- 
ent in  listening  to  a  speaker.  His  words  are  to  you  only 
so  many  sensations  of  sounds  of  such  and  such  pitches 
and  intensities  and  quality,  unless  your  mind  keeps  pace 
with  his  and  continually  builds  the  pictures  which  fill 
his  thought  as  he  speaks.  Lacking  imagination,  the 
sculptures  of  Michael  Angelo  and  the  pictures  of  Raphael 
are  to  you  so  many  pieces  of  curiously  shaped  marble 
and  ingeniously  colored  canvas.  "What  the  sculptor  and 
the  painter  have  placed  before  you  must  suggest  to  you 
images  and  thoughts  from  your  own  experience,  to  fill 
out  and  make  alive  the  marble  and  the  canvas,  else  to 
you  they  are  dead. 

Imagination  and  Science. — Nor  is  imagination  less  nec- 
essary in  other  lines  of  study.  Without  this  power  of 
building  living,  moving  pictures  out  of  images,  there  is 
small  use  to  study  science  beyond  what  is  immediately 
present  to  our  senses ;  for  some  of  the  most  fundamental 
laws  of  science  rest  upon  conceptions  which  can  be 
graspt'd  only  as  we  have  the  power  of  imagination.  The 
student  who  cannot  get  a  picture  of  the  molecuk'S  of 
matter,  infinitely  close  to  each  other  and  yet  never  touch- 
ing, all  in  vibratory  motion,  yet  each  within  its  own  or- 
bit, each  a  complete  unit  in  itself,  yet  capable  of  still 
furtiier  division  into  smaller  particles, — the  student  who 
cannot  see  all  this  in  a  clear  visual  image  can  never  at 
best  have  more  than  a  most  hazy  notion  of  the  theory  of 
matter.  And  this  means,  finally,  that  the  explanations 
of  light  and  heat  and  sound,  and  much  besides,  will  be 


IMAGINATION  131 

to  him  largely  a  jumble  of  words  which  linger  in  his 
memory,  perchance,  but  which  never  vitally  become  a 
possession  of  his  mind. 

So  with  the  world  of  the  telescope.  You  may  have  at 
your  disposal  all  the  magnificent  lenses  and  the  accurate 
machinery  owned  by  modern  observatories;  but  if  you 
have  not  within  yourself  the  power  to  build  what  these 
reveal  to  you,  and  what  the  books  tell  you,  into  the  solar 
system  and  still  larger  systems,  you  can  never  study 
astronomy  except  in  a  blind  and  piecemeal  sort  of  way, 
and  all  the  planets  and  satellites  and  suns  will  never 
for  you  form  themselves  into  a  system,  no  matter  what 
the  books  may  say  about  it. 

Everyday  Uses  of  Imagination. — But  we  may  consider 
a  still  more  practical  phase  of  imagination,  or  at  least 
one  which  has  more  to  do  with  the  humdrum  daily  life 
of  most  of  us.  Suppose  you  go  to  your  milliner  and  tell 
her  how  you  want  your  spring  hat  shaped  and  trimmed. 
And  suppose  you  have  never  been  able  to  see  this  hat 
in  toto  in  your  mind,  so  as  to  get  an  idea  of  how  it  will 
look  when  completed,  but  have  only  a  general  notion, 
because  you  like  red  velvet,  white  plumes,  and  a  turned- 
up  rim,  that  this  combination  will  look  well  together. 
Suppose  you  have  never  been  able  to  see  how  you  would 
look  in  this  particular  hat  with  your  hair  done  in  this 
or  that  way.  If  you  are  in  this  helpless  state  shall  you 
not  have  to  depend  finally  on  the  taste  of  the  milliner, 
or  accept  the  ' '  model, ' '  and  so  fail  to  reveal  any  taste  or 
individuality  on  your  own  part? 

How  many  times  have  you  been  disappointed  in  some 
article  of  dress,  because  when  you  planned  it  you  were 
unable  to  see  it  all  at  once  so  as  to  get  the  full  effect; 
or  else  you  could  not  see  yourself  in  it,  and  so  be  able 
to  judge  whether  it  suited  you !    How  many  homes  have 


132  THE  MIXD  AXD  ITS  EDUCATION 

in  them  draperies  and  rugs  and  wall  paper  and  furni- 
ture which  are  in  constant  quarrel  because  someone 
could  not  see  before  they  were  assembled  that  they  were 
never  intended  to  keep  company !  How  many  people  who 
plan  their  own  houses,  would  build  them  just  the  same 
again  after  seeing  them  completed  ?  The  man  who  can 
see  a  building  complete  before  a  brick  has  been  laid 
or  a  timber  put  in  place,  who  can  see  it  not  only  in  its 
details  one  by  one  as  he  runs  them  over  in  his  mind,  but 
can  see  the  building  in  its  entirety,  is  the  only  one  who 
is  safe  to  plan  the  structure.  And  this  is  the  man  who 
is  drawing  a  large  salary  as  an  architect,  for  imagina- 
tions of  this  kind  are  in  demand.  Only  the  one  who  can 
see  in  his  "mind's  eye."  before  it  is  begun,  the  thing 
he  would  create,  is  capable  to  plan  its  construction.  And 
who  will  say  that  ability  to  work  with  images  of  these 
kinds  is  not  of  just  as  high  a  type  as  that  which  results 
in  the  construction  of  plots  upon  which  stories  are  built ! 

The  Building  of  Ideals  and  Plans. — Nor  is  the  part  of 
imagination  less  marked  in  the  formation  of  our 
life's  ideals  and  plans.  Everyone  who  is  not  living 
blindly  and  aimlessly  must  have  some  ideal,  some  pat- 
tern, by  which  to  square  his  life  and  guide  his  actions. 
At  some  time  in  our  life  I  am  .sure  that  each  of  us  has 
selected  the  person  who  filled  most  nearly  our  notion  of 
what  we  should  like  to  become,  and  measured  ourselves 
by  this  pattern.  But  there  comes  a  time  when  we  must 
idealize  even  the  most  perfect  individual ;  when  we  in- 
vest the  character  with  attributes  which  we  have  selected 
from  .some  other  person,  and  thus  worship  at  a  shrine 
which  is  partly  real  and  partly  ideal. 

As  time  goes  on,  we  drop  out  more  and  more  of  the 
strictly  individual  element,  adding  correspondingly 
more  of  the  ideal,  until  our  pattern  is  largely  a  eon- 


niAGIXATION  133 

struction  of  our  own  imagination,  having  in  it  the  best 
we  have  been  able  to  glean  from  the  many  characters 
we  have  known.  How  large  a  part  these  ever-changing 
ideals  play  in  our  lives  we  shall  never  know,  but  cer- 
tainly the  part  is  not  an  insignificant  one.  And  happy 
the  youth  who  is  able  to  look  into  the  future  and  see 
himself  approximating  some  worthy  ideal.  He  has 
caught  a  vision  which  will  never  allow  him  to  lag  or  fal- 
ter in  the  pursuit  of  the  flying  goal  which  points  the 
direction  of  his  efforts. 

Imagination  ajid  Conduct. — Another  great  field  for 
imagination  is  with  reference  to  conduct  and  our  rela- 
tions with  others.  Over  and  over  again  the  thoughtless 
person  has  to  say,  ' '  I  am  sorry ;  I  did  not  think. ' '  The 
"did  not  think"  simply  means  that  he  failed  to  realize 
through  his  imagination  what  would  be  the  consequences 
of  his  rash  or  unkind  words.  He  would  not  be  unkind, 
but  he  did  not  imagine  how  the  other  would  feel;  he 
did  not  put  himself  in  the  other's  place.  Likewise  with 
reference  to  the  effects  of  our  conduct  on  ourselves. 
THiat  youth,  taking  his  first  di-ink  of  liquor,  would  con- 
tinue if  he  could  see  a  clear  picture  of  himself  in  the 
gutter  with  bloated  face  and  bloodshot  eyes  a  decade 
hence?  Or  what  boy,  .slyly  smoking  one  of  his  early 
cigarettes,  would  proceed  if  he  could  see  his  haggard 
face  and  nerveless  hand  a  few  years  farther  along? 
What  spendthrift  would  throw  away  his  money  on  vani- 
ties could  he  vividly  see  himself  in  penury  and  want  in 
old  age?  What  prodigal  an%-where  who,  if  he  could 
take  a  good  look  at  himself  sin-stained  and  broken  as  he 
returns  to  his  ''father's  house"  after  the  years  of  de- 
bauchery in  the  "far  country"  would  not  hesitate  long 
before  he  entered  upon  his  downward  career? 

Imagination  and  Thinking. — We  have  already  consid- 


134  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

ered  the  use  of  imagination  in  interpreting  the  thoughts, 
feelings  and  handiwork  of  others.  Let  us  now  look  a 
little  more  closely  into  the  part  it  plays  in  our  own 
thinking.  Suppose  that,  instead  of  reading  a  poem, 
we  are  writing  one;  instead  of  listening  to  a  descrip- 
tion of  a  battle,  we  are  describing  it;  instead  of  look- 
ing at  the  picture,  we  are  painting  it.  Then  our  object 
is  to  make  others  who  may  read  our  language,  or  listen 
to  our  words,  or  view  our  handiwork,  construct  the 
mental  images  of  the  situation  which  furnished  the 
material  for  our  thought. 

Our  w^ords  and  other  modes  of  expression  are  but  the 
description  of  the  flow  of  images  in  our  minds,  and  our 
problem  is  to  make  a  similar  stream  flow  through  the 
mind  of  the  listener;  but  strange  indeed  would  it  be  to 
make  others  see  a  situation  which  we  ourselves  cannot 
see;  strange  if  we  could  draw  a  picture  without  being 
able  to  follow  its  outlines  as  we  draw.  Or  suppose  we 
are  teaching  science,  and  our  object  is  to  explain  the 
composition  of  matter  to  someone,  and  make  him  under- 
stand how  light,  heat,  etc.,  depend  on  the  theory  of  mat- 
ter; strange  if  the  listener  should  get  a  picture  if  we 
ourselves  are  unable  to  get  it.  Or,  once  more,  suppose  we 
are  to  describe  some  incident,  and  our  aim  is  to  make 
its  every  detail  stand  out  so  clearly  that  no  one  can 
miss  a  single  one.  Is  it  not  evident  that  we  can  never 
make  any  of  these  images  more  clear  to  those  who  listen 
to  us  or  read  our  words  than  they  are  to  ourselves? 

2.    THE  MATERIAL  USED  BY  IMAGINATION 

What  is  the  material,  the  mental  content,  out  of  which 
imagination  builds  its  structures? 

Images  the  Stuff  of  Imagination. — Nothing  can  enter 


IMAGINATION  135 

the  imagination  the  elements  of  which  have  not  been 
in  our  past  experience  and  then  been  conserved  in  the 
form  of  images.  The  Indians  never  dreamed  of  a  heaven 
whose  streets  are  paved  with  gold,  and  in  whose  center 
stands  a  great  white  throne.  Their  experience  had  given 
them  no  knowledge  of  these  things;  and  so,  perforce, 
they  must  build  their  heaven  out  of  the  images  which 
they  had  at  command,  namely,  those  connected  with  the 
chase  and  the  forest.  So  their  heaven  was  the  "happy 
hunting  ground,"  inhabited  by  game  and  enemies  over 
whom  the  blessed  forever  triumphed.  Likewise  the  val- 
iant soldiers  whose  deadly  arrows  and  keen-edged  swords 
and  battle-axes  won  on  the  bloody  field  of  Hastings,  did 
not  picture  a  far-off  day  when  the  opposing  lines  should 
kill  each  other  with  mighty  engines  hurling  death  from 
behind  parapets  a  dozen  miles  away.  Firearms  and 
the  explosive  powder  were  yet  unknown,  hence  there 
were  no  images  out  of  which  to  build  such  a  picture. 
I  do  not  mean  that  your  imagination  cannot  construct 
an  object  which  has  never  before  been  in  your  experience 
as  a  whole,  for  the  work  of  the  imagination  is  to  do 
precisely  this  thing.  It  takes  the  various  images  at  its 
disposal  and  builds  them  into  wholes  which  may  never 
have  existed  before,  and  which  may  exist  now  only  as  a 
creation  of  the  mind.  And  yet  we  have  put  into  this 
new  product  not  a  single  element  which  was  not  familiar 
to  us  in  the  form  of  an  image  of  one  kind  or  another. 
.It  is  the  form  which  is  new;  the  material  is  old.  This 
is  exemphfied  every  time  an  inventor  takes  the  two  fun- 
damental parts  of  a  machine,  the  lever  and  the  inclined 
plane,  and  puts  them  together  in  relations  new  to  each 
other  and  so  evolves  a  machine  whose  complexity  fairly 
bewilders  us.  And  with  other  lines  of  thinking,  as  in 
mechanics,  inventive  power  consists  in  being  able  to  see 


136  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

the  old  in  new  relations,  and  so  constantly  build  new 
constructions  out  of  old  material.  It  is  this  power  which 
gives  us  the  daring  and  original  thinker,  the  Newton 
whose  falling  apple  suggested  to  him  the  planets  falling 
toward  the  sun  in  their  orbits;  the  Darwin  who  out  of 
the  thigh  bone  of  an  animal  M^as  able  to  construct  in  his 
imagination  the  whole  animal  and  the  environment  in 
which  it  must  have  lived,  and  so  add  another  page  to  the 
earth 's  history. 

The  Two  Factors  in  Imagination. — From  the  simple 
facts  which  we  have  just  been  considering,  the  conclusion 
is  plain  that  our  power  of  imagination  depends  on  two 
factors;  namely,  (1)  the  matermls  available  m  tlie  form 
of  usable  images  capable  of  recall,  and  (2)  our  canstruc- 
iive  ability,  or  the  power  to  group  these  images  into  new 
wholes,  the  process  being  guided  by  some  purpose  or  end. 
Without  this  last  provision,  the  products  of  our  imagina- 
tion are  daydreams  with  their  "castles  in  Spain,"  which 
may  be  pleasing  and  proper  enough  on  occasions,  but 
which  as  an  habitual  mode  of  thought  are  extremely  dan- 
gerous. 

Imagination  Limited  by  Stock  of  Images. — That  the 
mind  is  limited  in  its  imagination  by  its  stock  of  images 
may  be  seen  from  a  simple  illustration:  Suppose  that 
you  own  a  building  made  of  brick,  but  that  you  find  the 
old  one  no  longer  adequate  for  your  needs,  and  so  pur- 
pose to  build  a  new  one ;  and  suppose,  further,  that  you 
have  no  material  for  your  new  building  except  that 
contained  in  the  old  structure.  It  is  evident  that  you 
will  be  limited  in  constructing  your  now  building  by 
the  material  which  was  in  the  old.  You  may  be  able 
to  ])uild  the  new  structure  in  any  one  of  a  multitude  of 
different  forms  or  styles  of  architecture,  so  far  as  the 
material  at  hand  will  lend  itself  to  that  style  of  build- 


IMAGINATION  137 

ing,  and  providing,  further,  that  you  are  able  to  make 
the  plans.  But  you  will  always  be  limited  finally  by  the 
character  and  amount  of  material  obtainable  from  the 
old  structure.  So  with  the  mind.  The  old  building  is 
your  past  experience,  and  the  separate  bricks  are  the  im- 
ages out  of  which  you  must  build  your  new  structure 
through  the  imagination.  Here,  as  before,  nothing  can 
enter  which  was  not  already  on  hand.  Nothing  goes  into 
the  new  structure  so  far  as  its  constructive  material  is 
concerned  except  images,  and  there  is  nowhere  to  get 
images  but  from  the  results  of  our  past  experience. 

limited  Also  by  Our  Constructive  Ability. — But  not 
only  is  our  imaginative  output  limited  by  the  amount  of 
material  in  the  way  of  images  which  we  have  at  our 
command,  but  also  and  perhaps  not  less  by  our  constricc- 
tive  ability.  Many  persons  might  own  the  old  pile  of 
bricks  fully  adequate  for  the  new  structure,  and  then 
fail  to  get  the  new  because  they  were  unable  to  construct 
it.  So,  many  who  have  had  a  rich  and  varied  experi- 
ence in  many  lines  are  yet  unable  to  muster  their  images 
of  these  experiences  in  such  a  way  that  new  products 
are  obtainable  from  them.  These  have  the  heavy,  draft- 
horse  kind  of  intellect  which  goes  plodding  on,  very  pos- 
sibly doing  good  service  in  its  own  circumscribed  range, 
but  destined  after  all  to  service  in  the  narrow  field  with 
its  low,  drooping  horizon.  They  are  never  able  to  take 
a  dash  at  a  two-rninute  clip  among  equally  swift  com- 
petitors, or  even  swing  at  a  good  round  pace  along  the 
pleasant  highways  of  an  experience  lying  beyond  the 
confines  of  the  narrow  here  and  7iow.  These  are  the 
minds  which  cannot  discover  relations;  which  cannot 
think.  Minds  of  this  type  can  never  be  architects  of 
their  own  fate,  or  even  builders,  but  must  content  them- 
selves to  be  hod  carriers. 


138  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

The  Need  of  a  Purpose. — Nor  are  we  to  forget  that  we 
cannot  intelligently  erect  our  building  until  we  know  the 
purpose  for  which  it  is  to  be  used.  No  matter  how  much 
building  material  we  may  have  on  hand,  nor  how  skillful 
an  architect  we  may  be,  unless  our  plans  are  guided  by 
some  definite  aim,  we  shall  be  likely  to  end  with  a  struc- 
ture that  is  fanciful  and  useless.  Likewise  with  our 
thought  structure.  Unless  our  imagination  is  guided  by 
some  aim  or  purpose,  we  are  in  danger  of  drifting  into 
mere  daydreams  which  not  only  are  useless  in  furnish- 
ing ideals  for  the  guidance  of  our  lives,  but  often  be- 
come positively  harmful  when  grown  into  a  habit.  The 
habit  of  daydreaming  is  hard  to  break,  and,  continuing, 
holds  our  thought  in  thrall  and  makes  it  unwilling  to 
deal  with  the  plain,  homely  things  of  everyday  life.  Who 
has  not  had  the  experience  of  an  hour  or  a  day  spent 
in  a  fairyland  of  dreams,  and  awakened  at  the  end  to 
find  himself  rather  dissatisfied  with  the  prosaic  round  of 
duties  which  confronted  him!  I  do  not  mean  to  say 
that  we  should  never  dream ;  but  I  know  of  no  more  per- 
nicious mental  habit  than  that  of  daydreaming  carried 
to  excess,  for  it  ends  in  our  following  every  will-o'-the- 
wisp  of  fancy,  and  places  us  at  the  mercy  of  every  chance 
suggestion. 

3.     TYPES  OF  IMAGINATION 

Although  imagination  enters  every  field  of  human  ex- 
perience, and  busies  itself  with  every  line  of  human 
interest,  yet  all  its  activities  can  be  classed  under  two 
different  types.  These  are  (1)  reproductive,  and  (2) 
creative  imagination. 

Reproductive  Imagination. — Reproductive  imagination 
is  the  type  we  use  when  we  seek  to  reproduce  in  our 
minds  the  pictures  described  by  others,  or  pictures  from 


IMAGINATION  139 

our  own  past  experience  which  lack  the  completeness 
and  fidelity  to  make  them  true  memory. 

The  narration  or  description  of  the  story  book,  the 
history  or  geography  text;  the  tale  of  adventure  re- 
counted by  traveler  or  hunter;  the  account  of  a  new 
machine  or  other  invention;  fairy  tales  and  myths — 
these  or  any  other  matter  that  may  be  put  into  words 
capable  of  suggesting  images  to  us  are  the  field  for  re- 
productive imagination.  In  this  use  of  the  imagination 
our  business  is  to  follow  and  not  lead,  to  copy  and  not 
create. 

Creative  Imagination. — But  we  must  have  leaders, 
originators — else  we  should  but  imitate  each  other  and 
the  world  would  be  at  a  standstill.  Indeed,  every  per- 
son, no  matter  how  humble  his  station  or  how  humdrum 
his  life,  should  be  in  some  degree  capable  of  initiative 
and  originality.  Such  ability  depends  in  no  small  meas- 
ure on  the  power  to  use  creative  imagination. 

Creative  imagination  takes  the  images  from  our  own 
past  experience  or  those  gleaned  from  the  work  of  others 
and  puts  them  together  in  new  and  original  forms.  The 
inventor,  the  writer,  the  mechanic  or  the  artist  who 
possesses  the  spirit  of  creation  is  not  satisfied  with  mere 
reproduction,  but  seeks  to  modify,  to  improve,  to  origi- 
nate. True,  many  important  inventions  and  discoveries 
have  come  by  seeming  accident,  by  being  stumbled  upon. 
Yet  it  holds  that  the  person  who  thus  stumbles  upon 
the  discovery  or  invention  is  usually  one  whose  creative 
imagination  is  actively  at  work  seeking  to  create  or  dis- 
cover in  his  field.  The  world's  progress  as  a  whole 
does  not  come  by  accident,  but  by  creative  planning. 
Creative  imagination  is  always  found  at  the  van  of  prog- 
ress, whether  in  the  life  of  an  individual  or  a  nation. 


140  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

4.     TEAININa  THE  IMAGINATION 

Imagination  is  highly  susceptible  of  cultivation,  and 
its  training  should  constitute  one  of  the  most  important 
aims  of  education.  Every  school  subject,  but  especially 
such  subjects  as  deal  with  description  and  narration — 
history,  literature,  geography,  nature  study  and  science 
— is  rich  in  opportunities  for  the  use  of  imagination. 
Skillful  teaching  wall  not  only  find  in  these  subjects  a 
means  of  training  the  imagination,  but  will  so  employ 
imagination  in  their  study  as  to  make  them  living  mat- 
ter, throbbing  with  life  and  action,  rather  than  so  many 
dead  words  or  uninteresting  facts. 

Gathering  of  Material  for  Imagination. — Theoretically, 
then,  it  is  not  hard  to  see  what  we  must  do  to  cultivate 
our  imagination.  In  the  first  place,  we  must  take  car* 
to  secure  a  large  and  usable  stock  of  images  from  all 
fields  of  perception.  It  is  not  enough  to  have  visual  im- 
ages alone  or  chiefly,  for  many  a  time  shall  we  need 
to  build  structures  involving  all  the  other  senses  and 
the  motor  activities  as  well.  This  means  that  we  must 
have  a  first-hand  contact  with  just  as  large  an  environ- 
ment as  possible — large  in  the  world  of  Nature  with  all 
her  varied  forms  suited  to  appeal  to  every  avenue  of 
sense ;  large  in  our  contact  with  people  in  all  phases 
of  experience,  laughing  with  those  who  laugh  and  weep- 
ing with  those  wlio  weep ;  large  in  contact  with  books, 
the  interpreters  of  the  men  and  events  of  the  past.  We 
must  not  only  let  all  these  kinds  of  environment  drift 
in  upon  us  as  they  may  chance  to  do,  but  we  must  de- 
liberately seek  to  increase  our  stock  of  experience ;  for, 
after  all,  experience  lies  at  the  bottom  of  imagination 
as  of  every  other  mental  process.  And  not  only  must 
we  thus  put  ourselves  in  the  way  of  acquiring  new  ex- 


IMAGINATION  141 

perience,  but  we  must  by  recall  and  reconstruction,  as 
we  saw  in  an  earlier  discussion,  keep  our. imagery  fresh 
and  usable.  For  whatever  serves  to  improve  our  images, 
at  the  same  time  is  bettering  the  very  foundation  of  im- 
agination. 

"We  Must  Not  Fail  to  Build. — In  the  second  place,  we 
must  not  fail  to  build.  For  it  is  futile  to  gather  a  large 
supply  of  images  if  we  let  the  material  lie  unused.  How 
many  people  there  are  who  put  in  all  their  time  gather- 
ing material  for  their  structure,  and  never  take  time 
to  do  the  building!  They  look  and  listen  and  read,  and 
are  so  fully  occupied  in  absorbing  the  immediately  pres- 
ent that  they  have  no  time  to  see  the  wider  significance 
of  the  things  with  which  they  deal.  They  are  like  the 
students  who  are  too  busy  studying  to  have  time  to 
think.  They  are  so  taken  up  with  receiving  that  they 
never  perform  the  higher  act  of  combining.  They  are 
the  plodding  fact  gatherers,  many  of  them  doing  good 
service,  collecting  material  which  the  seer  and  the  phi- 
losopher, with  their  constructive  power,  build  together 
into  the  greater  wholes  which  make  our  systems  of 
thought.  They  are  the  ones  who  fondly  think  that,  by 
reading  books  full  of  wild  tales  and  impossible  plots,  they 
are  training  their  imagination.  For  them,  sober  history, 
no  matter  how  heroic  or  tragic  in  its  quiet  movements,  is 
too  tame.  They  have  not  the  patience  to  read  solid  and 
thoughtful  literature,  and  works  of  science  and  philos- 
ophy are  a  bore.  These  are  the  persons  who  put  in  all 
their  time  in  looking  at  and  admiring  other  people's 
houses,  and  never  get  time  to  do  any  building  for  them- 
selves. 

We  Should  Carry  Our  Ideals  into  Action. — The  best 
training  for  the  imagination  which  I  know  anything 
about  is  that  to  be  obtained  by  taking  our  own  material 


142  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

and  from  it  building  our  own  structure.  It  is  true  that 
it  will  help  to  look  through  other  .people 's  houses  enough 
to  discover  their  style  of  building :  we  should  read.  But 
just  as  it  is  not  necessary  for  us  to  put  in  all  the  time 
we  devote  to  looking  at  houses,  in  inspecting  doll  houses 
and  Chinese  pagodas,  so  it  is  not  best  for  us  to  get  all 
our  notions  of  imaginative  structures  from  the  marvelous 
and  the  unreal ;  we  get  good  training  for  the  imagina- 
tion from  reading  ' '  Hiawatha, ' '  but  so  can  we  from  read- 
ing the  history  of  the  primitive  Indian  tribes.  The  pic- 
tures in  "Snowbound"  are  full  of  suggestion  for  the 
imagination :  but  so  is  the  history  of  the  Puritans  in 
New  England.  But  even  with  the  best  of  models  be- 
fore us,  it  is  not  enough  to  follow  others'  building.  We 
must  construct  stories  for  ourselves,  must  work  out  plots 
for  our  own  stories ;  we  must  have  time  to  meditate  and 
plan  and  build,  not  idly  in  the  daydream,  but  purpose- 
fully, and  then  make  our  images  real  by  carrying  them 
out  in  activity,  if  they  are  of  such  a  character  that  this 
is  possible ;  we  must  build  our  ideals  and  work  to  them 
in  the  common  course  of  our  everyday  life ;  we  must 
think  for  ourselves  instead  of  forever  following  the 
thinking  of  others ;  we  must  initiate  as  well  as  imitate. 

5.  PROBLEMS  FOR  OBSERVATION  AND  INTROSPECTION 

1.  Explain  the  cause  and  the  remedy  in  the  case  of  such 
errors  as  the  following: 

Children  who  defined  niounlain  a.s  land  1,000  or  more  feet 
in  heif^dit  .said  that  the  iachtry  srnokestack  was  liif»'her  than 
the  mountain  because  it  "went  straight  up"  and  the  moun- 
tain did  not. 

Children  (jften  (liiid<  of  I  lie  liorizon  as  fastened  to  the 
earth. 

Islands  arc  thought  of  as  floating  on  the  water. 


IMAGINATION  143 

2.  How  would  you  stimulate  the  imagination  of  a  child  who 
does  not  seem  to  picture  or  make  real  the  desrcriptions  in  read- 
ing, geography,  etc.?  Is  it  possible  that  such  inability  may 
come  from  an  insufficient  basis  in  observation,  and  hence  in 
images? 

3.  Classify  the  school  subjects,  including  domestic  science 
and  manual  training,  as  to  their  ability  to  train  (1)  repro- 
ductive   and   (2)   creative  imagination. 

4.  Do  you  ever  skip  the  descriptive  parts  of  a  book  and 
read  the  narrative?  As  you  read  the  description  of  a  bit  of 
natural  scenery,  does  it  rise  before  you?  As  you  study  the 
description  of  a  battle,  can  you  see  the  movements  of  the 
troops? 

5.  Have  you  ever  planned  a  house  as  you  think  you  would 
like  it?  Can  you  see  it  from  all  sides?  Can  you  see  all  the 
rooms  in  their  various  finishings  and  furnishings? 

6.  What  plans  and  ideals  have  you  formed,  and  what  ones 
are  you  at  present  following?  Can  you  describe  the  process 
by  which  your  plans  or  ideals  change?  Do  you  ever  try  to 
put  yourself  in  the  other  person's  place? 

7.  Take  some  fanciful  uni-eality  which  your  imagination  has 
constructed  and  see  whether  you  can  select  from  it  familiar 
elements  from  actual  experiences. 

8.  What  use  do  you  make  of  imagination  in  the  common 
round  of  duties  in  your  daily  life?  What  are  you  doing  to 
improve  your  imagination? 


CHAPTER   X 

ASSOCIATION 

Whence  came  the  thought  that  occupies  you  this  mo- 
ment, and  what  determines  the  next  that  is  to  follow? 
Introspection  reveals  no  more  interesting  fact  concern- 
ing our  minds  than  that  our  thoughts  move  in  a  con- 
nected and  orderly  array  and  not  in  a  hit-and-miss  fash- 
ion. Our  mental  states  do  not  throng  the  stream  of 
consciousness  like  so  many  pieces  of  wood  following  each 
other  at  random  down  a  rushing  current,  now  this  one 
ahead,  now  that.  On  the  contrary,  our  thoughts  come, 
one  after  the  other,  as  they  are  beckoned  or  caused.  The 
thought  now  in  the  focal  point  of  your  consciousness 
appeared  because  it  sprouted  out  of  the  one  just  pre- 
ceding it;  and  the  present  thought,  before  it  departs, 
will  determine  its  successor  and  lead  it  upon  the  scene. 
This  is  to  say  that  our  thought  stream  possesses  not 
only  a  continuity,  but  also  a  unity;  it  has  coherence  and 
system.  This  coherence  and  system,  which  operates  in 
accordance  with  definite  laws,  is  brought  about  by  what 
the  psycliologist  calls  association. 

1.     THE  NATURE  OF  ASSOCIATION 

Wo  may  define  association,  then,  as  the  tendency 
among  our  thoughts  to  form  such  a  system  of  bonds 
with  oa(;h  other  that  the  objects  of  consciousness  are 
vitally  connected  both  (1)  as  they  exist  at  any  given  mo- 

144 


ASSOCIATION  145 

ment,  and  (2)  as  they  occur  in  succession  in  the  mental 
stream. 

The  Neural  Basis  of  Association. — The  association  of 
thoughts — ideas,  images,  memory — or  of  a  situation  with 
its  response,  rests  primarily  on  a  neural  basis.  Asso- 
ciation is  the  result  of  habit  working  in  neurone  groups. 
Its  fundamental  law  is  stated  by  James  as  follows: 
"When  two  elementary  brain-processes  have  been  ac- 
tive together  or  in  immediate  succession,  one  of  them, 
on  recurring,  tends  to  propagate  its  excitement  into  the 
other. ' '  This  is  but  a  technical  statement  of  the  simple 
fact  that  nerve  currents  flow  most  easily  over  the  neu- 
rone connections  that  they  have  already  used. 

It  is  hard  to  teach  an  old  dog  new  tricks,  because 
the  old  tricks  employ  familiar,  much-used  neural  paths, 
while  new  tricks  require  the  connecting  up  of  groups  of 
neurones  not  in  the  habit  of  working  together ;  and  the 
flow  of  nerve  energy  is  more  easily  accomplished  in 
the  neurones  accustomed  to  working  together.  One 
who  learns  to  speak  a  foreign  language  late  in  life  never 
attains  the  facility  and  ease  that  might  have  been 
reached  at  an  earlier  age.  This  is  because  the  neural 
paths  for  speech  are  already  set  for  his  mother-tongue, 
and,  with  the  lessened  plasticity  of  age,  the  new  paths 
are  hard  to  establish. 

The  connections  between  the  various  brain  areas,  or 
groups  of  neurones,  are,  as  we  have  seen  in  an  earlier 
chapter,  accomplished  by  means  of  association  fibers. 
This  function  requires  millions  of  neurones,  which  unite 
every  part  of  the  cortex  with  every  other  part,  thus 
making  it  possible  for  a  neural  activity  going  on  in  any 
particular  center  to  extend  to  any  other  center  whatso- 
ever. In  the  relatively  unripe  brain  of  the  child,  the 
association  fibers  have  not  yet  set  up  most  of  their  con- 


146  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

nections.  The  age  at  which  memory  begins  is  determined 
chiefly  by  the  development  of  a  sufficient  number  of  as- 
sociation fibers  to  bring  about  recall.  The  more  complex 
reasoning,  which  requires  many  different  associative 
connections,  is  impossible  prior  to  the  existence  of 
adequate  neural  development.  It  is  this  fact  that  makes 
it  futile  to  attempt  to  teach  young  children  the  more 
complicated  processes  of  arithmetic,  grammar,  or  other 


Fig.  18. — Diagrammatic  scheme  of  association.^in  which  V  stands  for 
the  visual.  A  for  the  auditory,  G  for  the  gustatory,  M  for  the  motor, 
and  T  for  the  thought  and  feeUng  centers  of  the  cortex. 

subjects.    They  are  not  yet  equipped  with  the  requisite 
brain  machinery  to  grasp  the  necessary  associations. 

Association  the  Basis  of  Memory. — Without  the  ma- 
chinery and  processes  of  association  we  could  have  no 
memory.  Let  us  see  in  a  simple  ilhistration  how  associa- 
tion works  in  recall.  Suppose  you  are  passing  an  or- 
chard and  see  a  tree  loaded  with  tempting  apples.  You 
hesitate,  then  climb  the  fence,  pick  an  ap])le  and  eat 
it,  hearing  the  owner's  dog  bark  as  you  leave  the  place. 
The  accompanying  diagram  will  illustrate  roughly  the 
centers  of  the  cortex  which  were  involved  in  the  act, 
and  the  association  fibers  which  connect  them.     (See  Fig. 


ASSOCIATION  147 

18.)  Now  let  us  see  how  you  may  afterward  remember 
the  circumstance  through  association.  Let  us  suppose 
that  a  week  later  you  are  seated  at  your  dining  table, 
and  that  you  begin  to  eat  an  apple  whose  flavor  reminds 
you  of  the  one  which  you  plucked  from  the  tree.  From 
this  start  how  may  the  entire  circumstance  be  recalled? 
Remember  that  the  cortical  centers  connected  with 
the  sight  of  the  apple  tree,  with  our  thoughts  about  it, 
with  our  movements  in  getting  the  apple,  and  with  hear- 
ing the  dog  bark,  were  all  active  together  with  the  taste 
center,  and  hence  tend  to  be  thrown  into  activity  again 
from  its  activity.  It  is  easy  to  see  that  we  may  (1)  get 
a  visual  image  of  the  apple  tree  and  its  fruit  from  a 
current  over  the  gustatory- visual  association  fibers;  (2) 
the  thoughts,  emotions,  or  deliberations  which  we  had  on 
the  former  occasion  may  again  recur  to  us  from  a  cur- 
rent over  the  gustatory-thought  neurones;  (3)  we  may 
get  an  image  of  our  movements  in  climbing  the  fence 
and  picking  the  apple  from  a  current  over  the  gusta- 
tory-motor fibers;  or  (4)  we  may  get  an  auditory  image 
of  the  barking  of  the  dog  from  a  current  over  the  gus- 
tatory-auditory fibers.  Indeed,  we  are  sure  to  get  some 
one  or  more  of  these  unless  the  paths  are  blocked  in 
some  way,  or  our  attention  leads  off  in  some  other  di- 
rection. 

Factors  Determining  Direction  of  Recall. —  Which  of 
these  we  get  first,  which  of  the  images  the  taste  per- 
cept calls  to  take  its  place  as  it  drops  out  of  con- 
sciousness, will  depend,  other  things  being  equal,  on 
which  center  was  most  keenly  active  in  the  original  situa- 
tion, and  is  at  the  moment  most  permeable.  If,  at  the 
time  we  were  eating  the  stolen  fruit,  our  thoughts  were 
keenly  self-accusing  for  taking  the  apples  without  per- 
mission,   then    the    current    will    probably    discharge 


148  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

through  the  path  gustatory-thought,  and  we  shall  re- 
call these  thoughts  and  their  accompanying  feelings. 
But  if  it  chances  that  the  barking  of  the  dog  frightened 
us  badly,  then  more  likely  the  discharge  from  the  taste 
center  will  be  along  the  path  gustatory-auditory,  and 
we  shall  get  the  auditory  image  of  the  dog's  barking, 
which  in  turn  may  call  up  a  visual  image  of  his  savage 
appearance  over  the  auditory-visual  fibers.  It  is  clear, 
however,  that,  given  any  one  of  the  elements  of  the  en- 
tire situation  back,  the  rest  are  potentially  possible  to 
us,  and  any  one  may  serve  as  a  "  cue ' '  to  call  up  all  the 
rest.  Whether,  given  the  starting  point,  we  get  them 
all,  depends  solely  on  whether  the  paths  are  sufficiently 
open  between  them  for  the  current  to  discharge  between 
them,  granting  that  the  first  experience  made  sufficient 
impression  to  be  retained. 

Since  this  simple  illustration  may  be  made  infinitely 
complex  by  means  of  the  millions  of  fibers  which  con- 
nect every  center  in  the  cortex  with  every  other  center, 
and  since,  in  passing  from  one  experience  to  another  in 
the  round  of  our  daily  activities,  these  various  areas  are 
all  involved  in  an  endless  chain  of  activities  so  inti- 
mately related  that  each  one  can  finally  lead  to  all  the 
others,  we  have  here  the  machinery  both  of  retention 
and  of  recall — the  mechanism  by  which  our  past  may  be 
made  to  serve  the  present  tli rough  being  reproduced  in 
the  form  of  memory  images  or  ideas.  Through  this  ma- 
chinery we  are  unable  to  escape  our  past,  whether  it  be 
good  or  bad ;  for  both  the  good  and  the  bad  alike  are 
brought  back  to  us  through  its  operations. 

When  the  repetition  of  a  series  of  acts  has  rendered 
habit  secure,  the  association  is  relatively  certain.  If  I 
recite  to  you  A-li-C-D,  your  thought  at  once  runs  on  to 
E,  F,  G.     If  I  repeat,  "Tell  me  not  in  mournful  num- 


ASSOCIATION  149 

bers,"  association  leads  you  to  follow  with  "Life  is  but 
an  empty  dream."  Your  neurone  groups  are  accus- 
tomed to  act  in  this  way,  so  the  sequence  follows.  Mem- 
orizing anything  from  the  multiplication  table  to  the 
most  beautiful  gems  of  poetic  fervor  consists,  therefore, 
in  the  setting  up  of  the  right  associative  connections  in 
the  brain. 

Association  in  Thinking. — All  thinking  proceeds  by 
the  discovery  or  recognition  of  relations  between  the 
terms  or  objects  of  our  thought.  The  science  of  mathe- 
matics rests  on  the  relations  found  to  exist  between  num- 
bers and  quantities.  The  principles  and  laws  of  nat- 
ural science  are  based  on  the  relations  established  among 
the  different  forms  of  matter  and  the  energy  that  op- 
erates in  this  field.  So  also  in  the  realm  of  history,  art, 
ethics,  or  any  other  field  of  human  experience.  Each 
fact  or  event  must  be  linked  to  other  facts  or  events  be- 
fore it  possesses  significance.  Association  therefore  lies 
at  the  foundation  of  all  thinking,  whether  that  of  the 
original  thinker  who  is  creating  our  sciences,  planning 
and  executing  the  events  of  history,  evolving  a  system 
of  ethics,  or  whether  one  is  only  learning  these  fields 
as  they  already  exist  by  means  of  study.  Other  things 
being  equal,  he  is  the  best  thinker  who  has  his  knowledge 
related  part  to  part  so  that  the  whole  forms  a  unified 
and  usable  system. 

Association  and  Action, — Association  plays  an  equally 
important  part  in  all  our  motor  responses,  the  acts  by 
which  we  carry  on  our  daily  lives,  do  our  work  and  our 
play,  or  whatever  else  may  be  necessary  in  meeting 
and  adapting  ourselves  to  our  environment.  Some  sen- 
sations are  often  repeated,  and  demand  practically  the 
same  response  each  time.  In  such  cases  the  associa- 
tions soon  become  fixed,  and  the  response  certain  and 


150  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

automatic.  For  example,  we  sit  at  the  table,  and 
the  response  of  eating  follows,  with  all  its  complex 
acts,  as  a  matter  of  course.  We  lie  down  in  bed, 
and  the  response  of  sleep  comes.  We  take  our  place 
at  the  piano,  and  our  fingers  produce  the  accustomed 
music. 

It  is  of  course  obvious  that  the  influence  of  associa- 
tion extends  to  moral  action  as  well.  In  general,  our 
conduct  follows  the  trend  of  established  associations. 
We  are  likely  to  do  in  great  moral  crises  about  as  we 
are  in  the  habit  of  doing  in  small  ones. 

2.     THE  TYPES  OF  ASSOCIATION 

Fundajnental  Law  of  Association. — Stated  on  the  phys- 
iological side,  the  law  of  habit  as  set  forth  in  the  defi- 
nition of  association  in  the  preceding  section  includes 
all  the  laws  of  association.  In  different  phrasing  we 
may  say:  (1)  Neurone  groups  accustomed  to  acting  to- 
gether have  the  tendency  to  work  in  unison.  (2)  The 
more  frequently  such  groups  act  together  the  stronger 
will  be  the  tendency  for  one  to  throw  the  other  into 
action.  Also,  (3)  the  more  intense  the  excitement  or  ten- 
sion under  which  they  act  together  the  stronger  will 
be  the  tendency  for  activity  in  one  to  bring  about  ac- 
tivity in  the  other. 

The  corresponding  facts  may  be  expressed  in  psy- 
cliological  terms  as  follows:  (1)  Facts  accustomed  to 
being  associated  together  in  tlie  mind  have  a  tendency 
to  reappear  together.  (2)  The  more  frequently  these 
facts  appear  together  the  stronger  the  tendency  for  the 
presence  of  one  to  insure  the  pr(\sence  of  the  other. 
(3)  The  greater  the  tension,  excitement  or  concentra- 
tion when  these  facts  appear  in  conjunction  with  each 


ASSOCIATION  151 

other,  the  more  certain  the  presence  of  one  is  to  cause 
the  presence  of  the  other. 

Several  different  types  of  association  have  been  dif- 
ferentiated by  psychologists  from  Aristotle  down.  It 
is  to  be  kept  in  mind,  however,  that  all  association  types 
go  back  to  the  elementary  law  of  hahit-connectiom 
among  the  neurones  for  their  explanation. 

Association  by  Contigniity. — The  recurrence  in  our 
minds  of  many  of  the  elements  from  our  past  experience 
is  due  to  the  fact  that  at  some  time,  possibly  at  many 
times,  the  recurring  facts  were  contiguous  in  conscious- 
ness with  some  other  element  or  fact  which  happens  now 
to  be  again  present.  All  have  had  the  experience  of 
meeting  some  person  whom  we  had  not  seen  for  several 
mouths  or  years,  and  having  a  whole  series  of  supposedly 
forgotten  incidents  or  events  connected  with  our  former 
associations  flood  into  the  mind.  Things  we  did,  topics 
we  discussed,  trips  we  took,  games  we  played,  now  recur 
at  the  renewal  of  our  acquaintance.  For  these  are  the 
things  that  w^ere  contiguous  in  our  consciousness  with 
our  sense  of  the  personality  and  appearance  of  our 
friend.  And  who  has  not  in  similar  fashion  had  a  whiff 
of  perfume  or  the  strains  of  a  song  recall  to  him  his 
childhood  days !    Contiguity  is  again  the  explanation. 

At  the  Mercy  of  Our  Associations. — Through  the  law 
thus  operating  we  are  in  a  sense  at  the  mercy  of  our 
associations,  which  may  be  bad  as  well  as  good.  We 
may  form  certain  lines  of  interest  to  guide  our  thought, 
and  attention  may  in  some  degree  direct  it,  but  one's 
mental  make-up  is,  after  all,  largely  dependent  on  the 
character  of  his  associations.  Evil  thoughts,  evil  mem- 
ories, evil  imaginations — these  all  come  about  through 
the  association  of  unworthy  or  impure  images  along 
with  the  good  in  our  stream  of  thought.     We  may  try 


152  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

to  forget  the  base  deed  and  banish  it  forever  from  our 
thinking,  but  lo!  in  an  unguarded  moment  the  nerve 
current  shoots  into  the  old  path,  and  the  impure  thought 
flashes  into  the  mind,  unsought  and  unwelcomed.  Every 
young  man  who  thinks  he  must  indulge  in  a  little  sowing 
of  wild  oats  before  he  settles  down  to  a  correct  life, 
and  so  deals  in  unworthy  thoughts  and  deeds,  is  put- 
ting a  mortgage  on  his  future;  for  he  will  find  the  in- 
exorable machinery  of  his  nervous  system  grinding  the 
hated  images  of  such  things  back  into  his  mind  as 
surely  as  the  mill  returns  to  the  sack  of  the  miller 
what  he  feeds  into  the  hopper.  He  may  refuse  to  har- 
bor these  thoughts,  but  he  can  no  more  hinder  their 
seeking  admission  to  his  mind  than  he  can  prevent  the 
tramp  from  knocking  at  his  door.  He  may  drive  such 
images  from  his  mind  the  moment  they  are  discovered, 
and  indeed  is  guilty  if  he  does  not;  but  not  taking  of- 
fense at  this  rebuff,  the  unwelcome  thought  again  seeks 
admission. 

The  only  protection  against  the  return  of  the  unde- 
sirable associations  is  to  choose  lines  of  thought  as 
little  related  to  them  as  possible.  But  even  then,  do 
the  best  we  may,  an  occasional  "connection"  will  be 
set  up,  we  know  not  how,  and  the  unwelcome  image 
stands  staring  us  in  the  face,  as  the  corpse  of  Eugene 
Aram's  victim  confronted  him  at  every  turn,  though  he 
thought  it  safely  buried.  A  minister  of  my  acquaintance 
tells  me  that  in  the  holiest  moments  of  his  most  exalted 
thought,  images  rise  in  his  mind  which  he  loathes,  and 
from  which  he  recoils  in  horror.  Not  only  does  he  drive 
them  away  at  once,  but  he  socks  to  lock  and  bar  the  door 
against  them  ))y  firmly  resolving  that  he  will  never  think 
of  them  again,  liut  alas!  tliat  is  beyond  liis  control. 
The  tares  have  been  sown  among  the  wheat,  and  will  per- 


ASSOCL\.TION  153 

sist  along  with  it  until  the  end.  In  his  boyhood  these 
images  were  given  into  the  keeping  of  his  brain  cells,  and 
they  are  only  being  faithful  to  their  trust. 

Association  by  Similarity  and  Contrast. — All  are  famil- 
iar with  the  fact  that  like  tends  to  suggest  like.  One 
friend  reminds  us  of  another  friend  when  he  manifests 
similar  traits  of  character,  shows  the  same  tricks  of  man- 
ner, or  has  the  same  peculiarities  of  speech  or  gesture. 
The  telling  of  a  ghost  or  burglar  story  in  a  company  will 
at  once  suggest  a  similar  story  to  every  person  of  the 
group,  and  before  we  know  it  the  conversation  has  set- 
tled down  to  ghosts  or  burglars.  One  boastful  boy  is 
enough  to  start  the  gang  to  recounting  their  real  or 
imaginary  exploits.  Good  and  beautiful  thoughts  tend 
to  call  up  other  good  and  beautiful  thoughts,  while  evil 
thoughts  are  likely  to  produce  after  their  own  kind ;  like 
produces  like. 

Another  form  of  relationship  is,  however,  quite  as 
common  as  similars  in  our  thinking.  In  certain  direc- 
tions we  naturally  think  in  opposites.  Black  suggests 
M^hite,  good  suggests  bad,  fat  suggests  lean,  wealth  sug- 
gests poverty,  happiness  suggests  sorrow,  and  so  on. 

The  tendency  of  our  thought  thus  to  group  in  sim- 
ilars and  opposites  is  clear  when  we  go  back  to  the  fun- 
damental law  of  association.  The  fact  is  that  we  more 
frequently  assemble  our  thoughts  in  these  ways  than  in 
haphazard  relations.  We  habitually  group  similars  to- 
gether, or  compare  opposites  in  our  thinking ;  hence  these 
are  the  terms  between  which  associative  bonds  are 
formed. 

Partial,  or  Selective,  Association. — The  past  is  never 
wholly  reinstated  in  present  consciousness.  Many  ele- 
ments, because  they  had  formed  fewer  associations,  or 
because  they  find  some  obstacle  to  recall,  are  perma- 


154  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

nently  dropped  out  and  forgotten.  In  other  words,  as- 
sociation is  always  selective,  favoring  now  this  item  of 
experience,  now  that,  above  the  rest. 

It  is  well  that  this  is  so;  for  to  be  unable  to  escape 
from  the  gi'eat  mass  of  minutiae  and  unimportant  detail 
in  one 's  past  would  be  intolerable,  and  would  so  cumber 
the  mind  with  useless  rubbish  as  to  destroy  its  useful- 
ness. We  have  surely  all  had  some  experience  with  the 
type  of  persons  whose  associations  are  so  complete  and 
impartial  that  all  their  conversation  teems  with  unes- 
sential and  irrelevant  details.  They  cannot  recount  the 
simplest  incident  in  its  essential  points  but,  slaves  to 
literalness,  make  themselves  insufiferable  bores  by  enter- 
ing upon  every  lane  and  by-path  of  circumstance  that 
leads  nowhere  and  matters  not  the  least  in  their  story. 
Dickens,  Thackeray,  George  Eliot,  Shakespeare,  and 
many  other  writers  have  seized  upon  such  characters  and 
made  use  of  them  for  their  comic  effect.  James,  in  illus- 
trating this  mental  type,  has  quoted  the  following  from 
Miss  Austen's  "Emma": 

"  'But  where  could  you  hear  it?'  cried  Miss  Bates. 
'Where  could  you  possibly  hear  it,  Mr.  Knightley?  For 
it  is  not  five  minutes  since  I  received  Mrs.  Cole's  note — 
no,  it  cannot  be  more  than  five — or  at  least  ten — for  I 
had  got  my  bonnet  and  spencer  on,  just  ready  to  come 
out — I  was  only  gone  down  to  si)('ak  to  Patty  again 
about  the  pork — Jane  was  standing  in  the  passage — 
were  not  you,  Jane? — for  my  mother  was  so  afraid  that 
we  had  not  any  salting-pan  lai-ge  enough.  So  I  said  I 
wouhi  go  down  and  see,  and  Jane  said:  "Shall  I  go 
down  instead  ?  for  I  think  you  have  a  little  cold,  and 
I'atty  has  been  washing  the  kitchen."  "Oh,  ray  dear," 
said  r — well,  and  just  tlien  came  the  note.'  " 

The  Remedy. — The  remedy  for  sucli  wearisome  and 


ASSOCIATION  155 

fruitless  methods  of  association  is,  as  a  matter  of  theory, 
simple  and  easy.  It  is  to  emphasize,  intensify,  and  dwell 
upon  the  significant  and  essential  in  our  thinking.  The 
person  who  listens  to  a  story,  who  studies  a  lesson,  or 
who  is  a  participant  in  any  event  must  apply  a  setise  of 
value,  recognizing  and  fixing  the  important  and  rele- 
gating the  trivial  and  unimportant  to  their  proper  level. 
Not  to  train  one's  self  to  think  in  this  discriminating 
way  is  much  like  learning  to  play  a  piano  by  striking 
each  key  with  equal  force ! 

3.     TEAINING  IN  ASSOCIATION 

Since  association  is  at  bottom  nothing  but  habit  at 
work  in  the  mental  processes,  it  follows  that  it,  like  other 
forms  of  habit,  can  be  encouraged  or  suppressed  by 
training.  Certainly,  no  part  of  one's  education  is  of 
greater  importance  than  the  character  of  his  associations. 
For  upon  these  Avill  largely  depend  not  alone  the  content 
of  his  mental  stream,  the  stuff  of  his  thinking,  but  also 
its  organization,  or  the  use  made  of  the  thought  material 
at  hand.  In  fact,  the  whole  science  of  education  rests 
on  the  laws  and  principles  involved  in  setting  up  right 
systems  of  associative  connections  in  the  individual. 

The  Pleasure-Pain  Motive  in  Association. — A  general 
law  seems  to  obtain  throughout  the  animal  world  that 
associative  responses  accompanied  by  pleasure  tend  to 
persist  and  grow  stronger,  while  those  accompanied  by 
pain  tend  to  weaken  and  fall  away.  The  little  child  of 
two  years  may  not  understand  the  gravity  of  the  offense 
in  tearing  the  leaves  out  of  books,  but  if  its  hands  are 
sharply  spatted  whenever  they  tear  a  book,  the  associa- 
tion between  the  sight  of  books  and  tearing  them  will 
soon  cease.    In  fact,  all  punishment  should  have  for  its 


156  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

object  the  use  of  pain  in  the  breaking  of  associative 
bonds  between  certain  situations  and  wrong  responses  to 
them. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  dog  that  is  being  trained  to 
perform  his  tricks  is  rewarded  with  a  tidbit  or  a  pat 
when  the  right  response  has  been  made.  In  this  way  the 
bond  for  this  particular  act  is  strengthened  through  the 
use  of  pleasure.  All  matter  studied  and  learned  under 
the  stimulus  of  good  feeling,  enthusiasm,  or  a  pleasur- 
able sense  of  victory  and  achievement  not  only  tends  to 
set  up  more  permanent  and  valuable  associations  than  if 
learned  under  opposite  conditions,  but  it  also  exerts  a 
stronger  appeal  to  our  interest  and  appreciation. 

The  influence  of  mental  attitude  on  the  matter  we 
study  raises  a  question  as  to  the  wisdom  of  assigning  the 
committing  of  poetry,  or  Bible  verses,  or  the  reading 
of  so  many  pages  of  a  literary  masterpiece  as  a  punish- 
ment for  some  offense.  How  many  of  us  have  carried 
away  associations  of  dislike  and  bitterness  toward  some 
gem  of  verse  or  prose  or  Scripture  because  of  having  our 
learning  of  it  linked  up  with  the  thought  of  an  imposed 
task  set  as  penance  for  wrong-doing!  One  person  tells 
me  that  to  this  day  she  hates  the  sight  of  Tennyson 
because  this  was  the  volume  from  which  she  was  as- 
signed many  pages  to  commit  in  atonement  for  her 
youthful   (lelinqnpneios. 

Interest  as  a  Basis  for  Association. — A.ssoeiations  estab- 
lished unilcr  the  stimulus  of  strong  interest  are  relatively 
broad  and  permanent,  while  those  formed  with  in- 
tercNt  flagging  are  more  narrow  and  of  doubtful  per- 
manence. This  statement  is,  of  course,  but  a  particular 
application  of  th(!  law  of  attention.  Interest  brings  the 
whole  self  into  action.  Under  its  urging  the  mind  is 
active  and  alert.     Tlic  new  facts  learned  are  completely 


ASSOCIATION  157 

registered,  and  are  assimilated  to  other  facts  to  which 
they  are  related.  Many  associative  connections  are 
formed,  hence  the  new  matter  is  more  certain  of  recall, 
and  possesses  more  significance  and  meaning. 

Association  and  Methods  of  Learning. — The  number 
and  quality  of  our  associations  depends  in  no  small  de- 
gree on  our  methods  of  learning.  We  may  be  satisfied 
merely  to  impress  what  we  learn  on  our  memory,  com- 
mitting it  uncritically  as  so  many  facts  to  be  stored 
away  as  a  part  of  our  education.  We  may  go  a  step  be- 
yond this  and  grasp  the  simplest  and  most  obvious  mean- 
ings, but  not  seek  for  the  deeper  and  more  fundamental 
relations.  We  may  learn  separate  sections  or  divisions 
of  a  subject,  accepting  each  as  a  more  or  less  complete 
unit,  without  connecting  these  sections  and  divisions  into 
a  logical  whole. 

But  all  such  methods  are  a  mistake.  They  do  not  pro- 
vide for  the  associative  bonds  between  the  various  facts 
or  groups  of  facts  in  our  knowledge,  without  which 
our  facts  are  in  danger  of  becoming  but  so  much  lumber 
in  the  mind.  Meanings,  relations,  definitely  recognized 
associations,  should  attach  to  all  that  we  learn.  Better 
far  a  smaller  amount  of  usable  knowledge  than  any 
quantity  of  unorganized  and  undigested  information, 
even  if  the  latter  sometimes  allows  us  to  pass  examina- 
tions and  receive  honor  grades.  In  short,  real  mastery 
demands  that  we  think,  that  is  relate  and  associate,  in- 
stead of  merely  ahsorhing  as  we  learn. 

4.    PEOBLEMS    IN    OBSEEVATION    AND    INTROSPECTION 

1.  Test  the  uncontrolled  associations  of  a  group  of  pupils 
by  pronouncing  to  the  class  some  word,  as  blue,  and  having 
the  members  write  down  20  words  in  succession  as  rapidly  as 
they  can,  taking  in  each  instance  the  first  word  that  occurs 


158  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

to  them.  The  difference  in  the  scope,  or  range,  of  associations, 
can  easily  be  studied  by  applying  this  test  to,  say,  a  fourth 
grade  and  an  eighth  grade  and  then  comparing  results. 

2.  Have  you  ever  been  puzzled  b,v  the  appearance  in 
your  mind  of  some  fact  or  incident  not  thought  of  before  for 
years?  Were  you  able  to  trace  out  the  associative  connection 
that  caused  the  fact  to  appear?  Why  are  we  sometimes  un- 
able to  recall,  when  we  need  them,  facts  that  we  perfectly  well 
know? 

3.  You  have  observed  that  it  is  possible  to  be  able  to 
spell  cei'tain  words  when  they  occur  in  a  spelling  lesson,  but 
to  miss  them  when  employing  them  in  composition.  It  is 
possible  to  learn  a  conjugation  or  a  declension  in  tabular  form, 
and  then  not  be  able  to  use  the  con-eet  forms  of  words  in 
speech  or  writing.  Relate  these  facts  to  the  laws  of  associa- 
tion, and  recommend  a  method  of  instruction  that  will  remove 
the  discrepancy. 

4.  To  test  the  quickness  of  association  in  a  class  of  chil- 
dren, copy  the  following  words  clearly  in  a  vertical  column  on 
a  chart;  have  your  class  all  ready  at  a  given  signal;  then  dis- 
play the  chart  before  them  for  sixty  seconds,  asking  them  to 
write  down  on  paper  the  exact  opposite  of  as  many  words 
as  possible  in  one  minute.  Be  sure  that  all  know  just  what 
they  are  expected  to  do. 

Bad,  inside,  slow,  short,  little,  soft,  black,  dark,  sad,  true, 
dislike,  poor,  well,  sorry,  thick,  full,  peace,  few,  below, 
enemy. 

Count  the  number  of  correct  opposites  got  by  each  pupil. 

5.  Can  you  think  of  garrulous  persons  among  your  ac- 
quaintance the  explanation  of  whose  tii'osomeness  is  that  their 
a-ssofiation  is  of  llie  complete  instead  of  the  selective  type? 
Watch  for  such  illustrations  in  conversation  and  in  literature 
(e.g.,  Juliet's  nurse). 

().  Observe  children  in  the  schoolroom  for  good  and  poor 
training  iii  association.  Have  you  ever  had  anything  that 
you   otherwise  presumably   would   enjoy    rendered   distasteful 


ASSOCIATION  159 

because  of  unpleasant  associations?  Pass  your  own  methods 
of  learning  in  review,  and  also  inquire  into  the  methods  used 
by  children  in  study,  to  determine  whether  they  are  resulting 
in  the  best  possible  use  of  association. 


CHAPTER   XI 

MEMORY 

Every  hour  of  our  lives  we  call  upon  memory  to  sup- 
ply us  with  some  fact  or  detail  from  out  our  past.  Let 
memory  wholly  fail  us,  and  we  find  ourselves  helpless 
and  out  of  joint  in  a  world  we  fail  to  understand.  A 
poor  memory  handicaps  one  in  the  pursuit  of  education, 
hampers  him  in  business  or  professional  success,  and 
puts  him  at  a  disadvantage  in  every  relation  of  life. 
On  the  other  hand,  a  good  memory  is  an  asset  on  which 
the  owner  realizes  anew  each  succeeding  day. 

1.     THE  NATUEE  OF  MEMORY 

Now  that  you  come  to  think  of  it,  you  can  recall  per- 
fectly well  that  Columbus  discovered  America  in  1492; 
that  your  house  is  painted  white ;  that  it  rained  a  week 
ago  today.  But  where  were  these  once-known  facts,  now 
remembered  so  easily,  while  they  were  out  of  your  mind  ? 
Where  did  they  stay  while  you  were  not  thinking  of 
them?  The  common  answer  is,  "Stored  away  in  my 
memory."  Yet  no  one  believes  that  the  memory  is  a 
warehouse  of  facts  which  we  pack  away  there  when  we 
for  a  time  have  no  use  for  them,  as  we  store  away  our  old 
furniture. 

What  is  Retained. — The  truth  is  that  the  simple  ques- 
tion 1  asked  you  is  by  no  means  an  easy  one,  and  I  will 

169 


MEMORY  161 

answer  it  myself  by  asking  you  an  easier  one:  As  we 
sit  with  the  sunlight  streaming  into  our  room,  where  is 
the  darkness  which  filled  it  last  night?  And  where  will 
all  this  light  be  at  midnight  tonight?  Answer  these 
questions,  and  the  ones  I  asked  about  your  remembered 
facts  will  be  answered.  While  it  is  true  that,  regardless 
of  the  conditions  in  our  little  room,  darkness  still  exists 
wherever  there  is  no  light,  and  light  still  exists  wherever 
there  is  no  darkness,  yet  for  this  particular  room  there 
is  no  darkness  when  the  sun  shines  in,  and  there  is  no 
light  when  the  room  is  filled  with  darkness.  So  in  the 
case  of  a  remembered  fact.  Although  the  fact  that  Co- 
lumbus discovered  America  some  four  hundred  years 
ago,  that  your  house  is  of  a  white  color,  that  it  rained 
a  week  ago  today,  exists  as  a  fact  regardless  of  w^hether 
your  minds  think  of  these  things  at  all,  yet  the  truth  re- 
mains as  before:  for  the  particular  mind  which  remem- 
bers these  things,  the  facts  did  not  exist  while  they  were 
out  of  the  mind. 

It  is  not  the  remembered  fact  which  is  retained,  but 

THE  POWER  TO  REPRODUCE  THE  FACT  WHEN  WE  REQUIRE  IT. 

The  Physical  Basis  of  Memory. — The  power  to  repro- 
duce a  once-known  fact  depends  ultimately  on  the  brain. 
This  is  not  hard  to  understand  if  we  go  back  a  little  and 
consider  that  brain  activity  was  concerned  in  every  per- 
ception we  have  ever  had,  and  in  every  fact  we  have  ever 
known.  Indeed,  it  was  through  a  certain  neural  ac- 
tivity of  the  cortex  that  you  were  able  originally  to  know 
that  Columbus  discovered  America,  that  your  house  is 
white,  and  that  it  rained  on  a  day  in  the  past.  Without 
this  cortical  activity,  these  facts  would  have  existed  just 
as  truly,  but  you  would  never  have  known  them.  With- 
out this  neural  activity  in  the  brain  there  is  no  con- 
sciousness, and  to  it  we  must  look  for  the  recurrence 


162  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

in  consciousness  of  remembered  facts,  as  well  as  for 
those  which  appear  for  the  first  time. 

How  We  Remember. — Now,  if  we  are  to  have  a  once- 
known  fact  repeated  in  consciousness,  or  in  other  words 
remenibered,  what  we  must  do  on  the  physiological  side 
is  to  provide  for  a  repetition  of  the  neural  activity  which 
was  at  first  responsible  for  the  fact's  appearing  in  con- 
sciousness. The  mental  accompaniment  of  the  repeated 
activity  is  the  memory.  Thus,  as  memory  is  th e  approxi- 
mate repetition  of  once-experienced  mental  states  or 
facts,  together  with  the  recognition  of  their  'belonging  to 
our  past,  so  it  is  accomplished  hy  an  approximate  repe- 
tition of  the  once-performed  neural  process  in  the  cortex 
which  originally  accompanied  these  states  or  facts. 

The  part  played  by  the  brain  in  memory  makes  it  easy 
to  understand  why  we  find  it  so  impossible  to  memorize 
or  to  recall  when  the  brain  is  fatigued  from  long  hours 
of  work  or  lack  of  sleep.  It  also  explains  the  derange- 
ment in  memory  that  often  comes  from  an  injury 
to  the  brain,  or  from  the  toxins  of  alcohol,  drugs  or 
disease. 

Dependence  of  Memory  on  Brain  Quality. — Differences 
in  memory  ability,  while  depending  in  part  on  the  train- 
ing memory  receives,  rest  ultimately  on  the  memory- 
quality  of  the  brain.  James  tells  us  that  four  distinct 
types  of  brains  may  be  distinguished,  and  he  describes 
them  as  follows: 

Brains  that  are : 

(1)  Like  marble  to  receive  and  like  marble  to  retain. 

(2)  Like  wa^  to  receive  and  like  wax  to  retain. 

(3)  Like  marble  to  receive  and  like  wax  to  retain. 

(4)  Like  wax  to  receive  and  like  marble  to  retain. 
The  first  type  gives  us  those  who  memorize  slowly  and 

with  much  heroic  effort,  but  who  keep  well  what  they 


MEMORY  163 

have  committed.  The  second  type  represents  the  ones 
who  learn  in  a  flash,  who  can  cram  up  a  lesson  in  a  few 
minutes,  but  who  forget  as  easily  and  as  quickly  as  they 
learn.  The  third  type  characterizes  the  unfortunates 
who  must  labor  hard  and  long  for  what  they  memorize, 
only  to  see  it  quickly  slipping  from  their  grasp.  The 
fourth  tj'pe  is  a  rare  boon  to  its  possessor,  enabling  him 
easily  to  stock  his  memory  with  valuable  material,  which 
is  readily  available  to  him  upon  demand. 

The  particular  type  of  brain  we  possess  is  given  us 
through  heredity,  and  we  can  do  little  or  nothing  to 
change  the  type.  Whatever  our  type  of  brain,  however, 
we  can  do  much  to  improve  our  memory  by  obeying  the 
laws  upon  which  all  good  memory  depends. 

2.     THE  FOUR  FACTORS  INVOLVED  IN  MEMORY 

Nothing  is  more  obvious  than  that  memory  cannot 
return  to  us  what  has  never  been  given  into  its  keeping, 
what  has  not  been  retained,  or  what  for  any  reason 
cannot  be  recalled.  Further,  if  the  facts  given  back  by 
memory  are  not  recognized  as  belonging  to  our  past, 
memory  would  be  incomplete.  Memory,  therefore,  in- 
volves the  following  four  factors:  (1)  registration,  (2) 
retention,  (3)  recall,  (4)  recognition. 

Registration. — By  registration  we  mean  the  learning 
or  committing  of  the  matter  to  be  remembered.  On  the 
brain  side  this  involves  producing  in  the  appropriate 
neurones  the  activities  which,  when  repeated  again  later, 
cause  the  fact  to  be  recalled.  It  is  tliis  process  that  con- 
stitutes what  we  call  "impressing  the  facts  upon  the 
brain. ' ' 

Nothing  is  more  fatal  to  good  memory  than  partial  or 
faulty  registration.     A  thing  but  half  learned  is  sure 


164  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

to  be  forgotten.  "We  often  stop  in  the  mastery  of  a  les- 
son just  short  of  the  full  impression  needed  for  per- 
manent retention  and  sure  recall.  We  sometimes  say 
to  our  teachers,  "I  cannot  remember,"  when,  as  a  mat- 
ter of  fact,  we  have  never  learned  the  thing  we  seek  to 
recall. 

Retention,. — Retention,  as  we  have  already  seen,  re- 
sides primarily  in  the  brain.  It  is  accomplished  through 
the  law  of  habit  working  in  the  neurones  of  the  cortex. 
Here,  as  elsewhere,  habit  makes  an  activity  once  per- 
formed more  easy  of  performance  each  succeeding  time. 
Through  this  law  a  neural  activity  once  performed  tends 
to  be  repeated ;  or,  in  other  words,  a  fact  once  known  in 
consciousness  tends  to  be  remembered.  That  so  large  a 
part  of  our  past  is  lost  in  oblivion,  and  out  of  the  reach 
of  our  memory,  is  probably  much  more  largely  due  to 
a  failure  to  recall  than  to  retain.  "We  say  that  we  have 
forgotten  a  fact  or  a  name  which  we  canijot  recall,  ^r*^s 
hard  as  -we  may ;  yet  surely  all  have  h^  the  experience 
of  a  long-striven-for  fact  suddenly  ^pjfearing  in  our 
memory  when  we  had  given  it  up  and  no  longer  had 
u.se  for  it.  It  was  retained  all  tlie  time,  else  it  never 
could  have  come  bflck  at  all. 

An  aged  man  of  my  ac/Juaiutance  lay  on  liis  death- 
bed. In  his  chiklhood  he  badv first  learned  to  speak 
German ;  but,  moving  w^i  l^is  family  when  he  was 
eight  or  nine  years  of  age  t(^an  English-speaking  com- 
munity, }]('  had  lost  his  ability  to  speak  German,  and 
had  been  unable  for  a  third  of  a  century  to  carry  on 
a  conv(!rsati()n  in  his  motlicr  tongue.  Yet  during  the 
last  days  of  his  sickness  he  lost  almost  wholly  the  power 
to  use  tile  Kiiglisli  language,  and  spoke  fluently  in  Ger- 
man. During  all  these  years  his  brain  paths  had  re- 
tained the  power  to  reproduce  the  forgotten  words,  eveo 


MEMORY  165 

though  for  so  long  a  time  the  words  could  not  be  re- 
called. James  quotes  a  still  more  striking  ease  of  an 
aged  woman  who  was  seized  with  a  fever  and,  during 
her  delirious  ravings,  was  heard  talking  in  Latin,  He- 
brew and  Greek.  She  herself  could  neither  read  nor 
write,  and  the  priests  said  she  was  possessed  of  a  devil. 
But  a  physician  unraveled  the  mystery.  When  the  girl 
was  nine  years  of  age,  a  pastor,  who  was  a  noted  scholar, 
had  taken  her  into  his  home  as  a  servant,  and  she  had 
remained  there  until  his  death.  During  this  time  she 
had  daily  heard  him  read  aloud  from  his  books  in  these 
languages.  Her  brain  had  indelibly  retained  the  record 
made  upon  it,  although  for  years  she  could  not  have 
recalled  a  sentence,  if,  indeed,  she  had  ever  been  able 
to  do  so. 

Recall. — Recall  depends  entirely  on  association. 
There  is  no  way  to  arrive  at  a  certain  fact  or  name  that 
is  eluding  us  except  by  means  of  some  other  facts,  names, 
or  what-not  so  related  tO/tiie  missing  term  as  to  be  able 
to  bring  it  into  the  fold.  IMempry  arrives  at  any  de- 
sired fact  only  over  a  bridge  of  associations.  It  there- 
fore follows  that  the  more  associations  set  up  between 
the  fact  to  be  remembered  and  related  facts  already  in 
the  mind,  the  more  certain  the  recall.  Historical  dates 
and  events  should  when  learned  be  associated  with  im- 
portant central  dates  and  events  to  which  they  naturally 
attach.  Geographical  names,  places  or  other  information 
should  be  connected  with  related  material  already  in  the 
mind.  Scientific  knowledge  should  form  a  coherent  and 
related  whole.  In  short,  everything  that  Ls  given  over 
to  the  memory  for  its  keeping  should  be  linked  as  closely 
as  possible  to  material  of  the  same  sort.  This  is  all  to 
say  that  we  should  not  expect  our  memory  to  retain 
and  reproduce  isolated,  unrelated  facts,  but  should  give 


166  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

it  the  advantage  of  as  many  logical  and  well  grounded 
associations  as  possible. 

Recognition. — A  fact  reproduced  by  memory  but  not 
recognized  as  belonging  to  our  past  experience  would 
impress  us  as  a  new  fact.  This  would  mean  that  mem- 
ory would  fail  to  link  the  present  to  the  past.  Often  we 
are  puzzled  to  know  whether  we  have  before  met  a  cer- 
tain person,  or  on  a  former  occasion  told  a  certain  story, 
or  previously  experienced  a  certain  present  state  of  mind 
which  seems  half  familiar.  Such  baffling  mental  states 
are  usually  but  instances  of  partial  and  incomplete  rec- 
ognition. Recognition  no  longer  applies  to  much  of 
our  knowledge;  for  example,  we  say  we  remember  that 
four  times  six  is  twenty-four,  but  probably  none  of  us 
can  recall  when  and  where  we  learned  this  fact — we  can- 
not recognize  it  as  belonging  to  our  past  experience. 
So  with  ten  thousand  other  things,  which  we  hnow  rather 
than  remember  in  the  strict  sense. 


3.     THE  STUFF  OF  MEMORY 

What  are  the  forms  in  which  memory  presents  the 
past  to  us?  Wliat  are  the  elements  with  which  it  deals? 
What  is  the  stufT  of  which  it  consists? 

Images  as  the  Material  of  Memory. — In  the  light  of  our 
discussion  upon  mental  imagery,  and  witli  the  aid  of  a 
little  introspection,  the  answer  is  easy.  I  ask  you  to  re- 
member your  liome,  and  at  once  a  visual  image  of  the 
familiar  hou.se,  with  its  well-known  rooms  and  their 
characteristic  furnishings,  comes  to  your  mind.  I  ask 
you  to  rem  ember  the  last  concert  yon  attended,  or  the 
chorus  of  birds  you  hoard  recently  in  the  woods;  and 
there  comes  a  flood  of  iTnn;,'es,  partly  visual,  but  largely 
auditory,  from  the  melodies  you  heard.     Or  I  ask  you 


MEMORY  167 

to  remember  the  feast  of  which  you  partook  yesterday, 
and  gustatory  and  olfactory  images  are  prominent 
among  the  others  which  appear.  And  so  I  might  keep  on 
until  I  had  covered  the  whole  range  of  your  memory ; 
and,  whether  I  ask  you  for  the  simple  trivial  experiences 
of  your  past,  for  the  tragic  or  crucial  experiences,  or  for 
the  most  abstruse  and  abstract  facts  which  you  know  and 
can  recall,  the  case  is  the  same :  much  of  what  memory 
presents  to  you  comes  in  the  form  of  images  or  of  ideas 
of  your  past. 

Images  Vary  as  to  Type. — ^We  do  not  all  remember 
what  we  call  the  same  fact  in  like  images  or  ideas.  When 
you  remembered  that  Columbus  discovered  America  in 
1492,  some  of  you  had  an  image  of  Columbus  the  mar- 
iner standing  on  the  deck  of  his  ship,  as  the  old  picture 
shows  him ;  and  accompanying  this  image  was  an  idea  of 
"long  agoness. "  Others,  in  recalling  the  same  fact, 
had  an  image  of  the  coast  on  which  he  landed,  and  per- 
chance felt  the  rocking  of  the  boat  and  heard  it  scraping 
on  the  sand  as  it  neared  the  shore.  And  still  others  saw 
on  the  printed  page  the  words  stating  that  Columbus 
discovered  America  in  1492.  And  so  in  an  infinite  va- 
riety of  images  or  ideas  we  may  remember  what  we  call 
the  same  fact,  though  of  course  the  fact  is  not  really  the 
same  fact  to  any  two  of  us,  nor  to  any  one  of  us  when 
it  comes  to  us  on  different  occasions  in  different  images. 

Other  Memory  Material, — But  sensory  images  are  not 
the  only  material  with  which  memory  has  to  deal.  We 
mav  also  recall  the  bare  fact  that  it  rained  a  week  ago 
today  without  having  images  of  the  rain.  We  may  recall 
that  Columbus  discovered  America  in  1492  without  vis- 
ual or  other  images  of  the  event.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
we  do  constantly  recall  many  facts  of  abstract  nature, 
such    as   mathematical   or   scientific   formulas   with   no 


168  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

imagery  other  than  that  of  the  words  or  sjTnbols,  if  in- 
deed these  be  present.  IMemory  may  therefore  use  as  its 
stuff  not  only  images,  but  also  a  wide  range  of  facts, 
ideas  and  meanings  of  all  sorts. 


4.     LAWS  UNDERLYING  MEMORY 

The  development  of  a  good  memory  depends  in  no 
small  degree  on  the  closeness  with  which  we  follow  cer- 
tain well-demonstrated  laws. 

The  Law  of  Association. — The  law  of  association,  as  we 
have  already  seen,  is  fundamental.  Upon  it  the  whole 
structure  of  memory  depends.  Stating  this  law  in  neu- 
ral terms  we  may  say:  Brain  areas  which  are  active 
together  at  the  same  time  tend  to  estahlish  associative 
paths,  so  that  when  one  of  them  is  again  active  the  other 
is  also  brought  into  activity.  Expressing  the  same  truth 
in  mental  terms :  If  two  facts  or  experiences  occur  to- 
gether in  consciousness,  and  one  of  them  is  later  re- 
called, it  tends  to  cause  the  other  to  appear  also. 

The  Law  of  Repetition. — The  law  of  repetition  is  but  a 
restatement  of  the  law  of  habit,  and  may  be  foniuilated 
as  follows:  The  more  frequently  a  certain  cortical  ac- 
tivity occurs,  the  more  easily  is  its  repetition  brought 
about.  Stating  this  law  in  mental  terms  we  may  say: 
The  more  often  a  fact  is  recalled  in  consciousness  the 
easier  and  more  certain  the  recall  becomes.  It  is  upon 
the  law  of  repetition  that  reviews  and  drills  to  fix  things 
in  the  memory  are  based. 

The  Law  of  Recency. — We  may  state  the  law  of  recency 
ill  iiliysiological  terms  as  follows:  The  more  recently 
brain  ceiilcTs  have  been  employed  in  a  certain  activity, 
the  more  easily  are  they  thrown  into  the  same  activity. 
This,  on  the  mental  side,  means:     The  more  recently 


MEMORY  169 

any  facts  have  been  present  in  consciousness  the  more 
easily  are  they  recalled.  It  is  in  obedience  to  this  law 
that  we  want  to  rehearse  a  difficult  lesson  just,  before 
the  recitation  hour,  or  cram  immediately  before  an  ex- 
amination. The  working  of  this  law  also  explains  the 
tendency  of  all  memories  to  fade  out  as  the  years  pass  by. 
The  Law  of  Vividness. — The  law  of  vividness  is  of  pri- 
mary importance  in  memorizing.  On  the  physical  side 
it  may  be  expressed  as  follows :  The  higher  th e  tension 
or  the  more  intense  the  activity  of  neural  centers  the 
more  easily  the  activity  is  repeated.  The  counterpart 
of  this  law  in  mental  terms  is:  The  higher  the  degree 
of  attentian  or  concentration  when  the  fact  is  registered 
the  more  certain  it  is  of  recall.  Better  far  one  impres- 
sion of  a  high  degree  of  vividness  than  several  repeti- 
tions with  the  attention  wandering  or  the  brain  too 
fatigued  to  respond.  Not  drill  alone,  but  drill  with  con- 
centration, is  necessary  to  sure  memory, — in  proof  of 
which  witness  the  futile  results  on  the  part  of  the  small 
boy  who  "studies  his  spelling  lesson  over  fifteen  times," 
the  while  he  is  at  the  same  time  counting  his  marbles. 

5.     EULES  FOR  USING  THE  MEMORY 

Much  careful  and  fruitful  experimentation  in  the  field 
of  memory  has  taken  place  in  recent  years.  The  scien- 
tists are  now  able  to  give  us  certain  simple  rules  which 
we  can  employ  in  using  our  memories,  even  if  we  lack 
the  time  or  opportunity  to  follow  all  their  technical 
discussions. 

Wholes  Versus  Parts.  — Probably  most  people  in  setting 
to  work  to  commit  to  memory  a  poem,  oration,  or  other 
such  material,  have  a  tendency  to  learn  it  first  by  stanzas 
or  sections  and  then  put  the  parts  together  to  form  the 


170  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

whole.  Many  tests,  however,  have  shown  this  to  be  a 
less  effective  method  than  to  go  over  the  whole  poem  or 
oration  time  after  time,  finally  giving  special  attention  to 
any  particularly  difficult  places.  The  only  exception  to 
this  rule  would  seem  to  be  in  the  case  of  very  long  pro- 
ductions, which  may  be  broken  up  into  sections  of  rea- 
sonable length.  The  method  of  committing  by  wholes 
instead  of  parts  not  only  economizes  time  and  effort  in 
the  learning,  but  also  gives  a  better  sense  of  unity  and 
meaning  to  the  matter  memorized. 

Rate  of  Forgetting. — The  rate  of  forgetting  is  found 
to  be  very  much  more  rapid  immediately  following  the 
learning  than  after  a  longer  time  has  elapsed.  This  is 
to  say  that  of  what  one  is  going  to  forget  of  matter  com- 
mitted to  memory  approximately  one-half  will  fall  away 
within  the  first  twenty-four  hours  and  three-fourths 
within  the  first  three  days.  Since  it  is  always  economy 
to  fix  afresh  matter  that  is  fading  out  before  it  has  been 
wholly  forgotten,  it  will  manifestly  pay  to  review  im- 
portant memory  material  within  the  first  day  or  two 
after  it  has  once  been  memorized. 

Divided  Practice. — If  to  commit  a  certain  piece  of  ma- 
terial Ave  must  go  over  it,  say,  ten  different  times,  the 
results  are  found  to  be  much  better  when  the  entire 
Jiumber  of  repetitions  are  not  had  in  immediate  succes- 
sion, but  with  reasonable  intervals  between.  This  is 
due,  no  doubt,  to  the  well-known  fact  that  associations 
tend  to  take  form  and  grow  more  secure  even  after  we 
have  ceased  to  think  specifically  of  the  matter  in  hand. 
The  intervals  allow  time  for  the  associations  to  form 
their  connections.  It  is  in  this  sense  that  James  says  we 
"If-arn  to  swim  during  the  winter  and  to  skate  during 
the  summer." 

Forcing  the  Memory  to  Act. — In  committing  matter  by 


MEMORY  171 

rep-ding  it,  the  memory  should  be  forced  into  activity 
just  as  fast  as  it  is  able  to  carry  part  of  the  material. 
If,  after  reading  a  poem  over  once,  parts  of  it  can  be 
repeated  without  reference  to  the  text,  the  memory 
should  be  compelled  to  reproduce  these  parts.  So  with 
all  other  material.  Re-reading  should  be  applied  only 
at  such  points  as  the  memory  has  not  yet  grasped. 

Not  a  Memory,  But  Memories,. — Professor  James  has 
emphasized  the  fact,  which  has  often  been  demonstrated 
by  experimental  tests,  that  we  do  not  possess  a  mem- 
ory, but  a  collection  of  memories.  Our  memory  may  be 
very  good  in  one  line  and  poor  in  another.  Nor  can 
we  ''train  our  memory"  in  the  sense  of  practicing  it  in 
one  line  and  having  the  improvement  extend  equally 
to  other  lines.  Committing  poetry  may  have  little  or  no 
effect  in  strengthening  the  memory  for  historical  or 
scientific  data.  In  general,  the  memory  must  be  trained 
in  the  specific  lines  in  which  it  is  to  excel.  General 
training  will  not  serve  except  as  it  may  lead  to  better 
modes  of  learning  what  is  to  be  memorized. 

6.     WHAT  CONSTITUTES  A  GOOD  MEMORY 

Let  US  next  inquire  what  are  the  qualities  which  enter 
into  what  we  call  a  good  memory.  The  merchant  or 
politician  will  say,  "Ability  to  remember  well  people's 
faces  and  names";  the  teacher  of  history,  "The  ability 
to  recall  readily  dates  and  events" ;  the  teacher  of  mathe- 
matics, "The  power  to  recall  mathematical  formulte"; 
the  hotel  waiter,  "The  ability  to  keep  in  mind  half-a- 
dozen  orders  at  a  time";  the  manager  of  a  corporation, 
"The  ability  to  recall  all  the  necessary  details  connected 
with  the  running  of  the  concern."  While  these  answers 
are  very  divergent,  yet  they  may  all  be  true  for  the  par- 


172  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

ticular  person  testifying;  for  out  of  them  all  there 
emerges  this  common  truth,  that  the  test  memory  is  the 
one  which  test  serves  its  possessor.  That  is,  one's  mem- 
ory not  only  must  be  ready  and  exact,  but  must  produce 
the  right  kind  of  material ;  it  must  bring  to  us  what  we 
need  in  our  thinking.  A  very  easy  corollary  at  once 
grows  out  of  this  fact ;  namely,  that  in  order  to  have  the 
memory  return  to  us  the  right  kind  of  matter,  we  must 
store  it  with  the  right  kind  of  images  and  ideas,  for  the 
memory  cannot  give  back  to  us  anything  which  we  have 
not  first  given  into  its  keeping. 

A  Good  Memory  Selects  Its  Material. — The  best  memory 
is  not  necessarily  the  one  which  impartially  repeats  the 
largest  number  of  facts  of  past  experience.  Every- 
one has  many  experiences  which  he  never  needs  to  have 
reproduced  in  memory;  useful  enough  they  may  have 
been  at  the  time,  but  wholly  useless  and  irrelevant  later. 
They  have  served  their  purpose,  and  should  henceforth 
slumber  in  oblivion.  They  would  be  but  so  much  rub- 
bish and  lumber  if  they  could  be  recalled.  Everyone 
has  surely  met  that  particular  type  of  bore  whose  mem- 
ory is  so  faithful  to  details  that  no  incident  in  the 
story  he  tells,  no  matter  however  trivial,  is  ever  omit- 
ted in  the  recounting.  His  associations  work  in  such  a 
tireless  round  of  minute  succession,  without  ever  being 
able  to  take  a  jump  or  a  short  cut,  that  he  is  powerless 
to  separate  the  wheat  from  the  chaff;  so  he  dumps  the 
whole  indiscriminate  mass  into  our  long-sufforing  ears. 

Dr.  Carpenter  tells  of  a  member  of  Parliament  who 
could  repeat  long  legal  documents  and  acts  of  Parlia- 
ment after  one  reading.  When  he  was  congratulated  on 
his  remarkable  gift,  he  replied  that,  instead  of  being  an 
advantage  to  him,  it  was  often  a  source  of  gi'eat  in- 
convenience, because  when  he  wished  to  recollect  any- 


MEMORY  173 

thing  in  a  document  he  had  read,  he  could  do  it  only 
by  repeating  the  whole  from  the  beginning  up  to  the 
point  which  he  wished  to  recall,  Maudsley  says  that  the 
kind  of  memory  which  enables  a  person  ' '  to  read  a  photo- 
graphic copy  of  former  impressions  with  his  mind's  eye 
is  not,  indeed,  commonly  associated  with  high  intellec- 
tual power, ' '  and  gives  as  a  reason  that  such  a  mind  is 
hindered  by  the  very  wealth  of  material  furnished  by 
the  memory  from  discerning  the  relations  between  sep- 
arate facts  upon  which  judgment  and  reasoning  depend. 
It  is  likewise  a  common  source  of  surprise  among  teach- 
ers that  many  of  the  pupils  who  could  outstrip  their 
classmates  in  learning  and  memory  do  not  turn  out  to  be 
able  men.  But  this,  says  Whately,  "is  as  reasonable  as 
to  wonder  that  a  cistern  if  filled  should  not  be  a  per- 
petual fountain."  It  is  possible  for  one  to  be  so  lost  in 
a  tangle  of  trees  that  he  cannot  see  the  woods. 

A  Good  Memory  Requires  Good  Thinking. — It  is  not, 
then,  mere  re-presentation  of  facts  that  constitutes  a 
good  memory.  The  pupil  who  can  reproduce  a  history 
lesson  by  the  page  has  not  necessarily  as  good  a  memory 
as  the  one  who  remembers  fewer  facts,  but  sees  the  re- 
lations between  those  remembered,  and  hence  is  able  to 
choose  what  he  will  remember.  Llemory  must  be  dis- 
criminative. It  must  fasten  on  that  which  is  important 
and  keep  that  for  us.  Therefore  we  can  agree  that  ''the 
art  of  remembering  is  the  art  of  thinking."  Discrimi- 
nation must  select  the  important  out  of  our  mental 
stream,  and  these  images  must  be  associated  with  as 
many  others  as  possible  which  are  already  well  fixed  in 
memory,  and  hence  are  sure  of  recall  when  needed.  In 
this  way  the  old  will  always  serve  as  a  cue  to  call  up 
the  new. 

Memory  Must  Be  Specialized. — And  not -only  must  mem- 


174  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

ory,  if  it  is  to  be  a  good  memory,  omit  the  generally 
worthless,  or  trivial,  or  irrelevant,  and  supply  the  gen- 
erally useful,  significant,  and  relevant,  but  it  must  in 
some  degree  be  a  specialized  memory.  It  must  minister 
to  the  particular  needs  and  requirements  of  its  owner. 
Small  consolation  to  you  if  you  are  a  Latin  teacher,  and 
are  able  to  call  up  the  binomial  theorem  or  the  date  of 
the  fall  of  Constantinople  when  you  are  in  dire  need  of 
a  conjugation  or  a  declension  which  eludes  you.  It  is 
much  better  for  the  merchant  and  politician  to  have  a 
good  memory  for  names  and  faces  than  to  be  able  to 
repeat  the  succession  of  English  monarchs  from  Alfred 
the  Great  to  Edward  VII  and  not  be  able  to  tell  John 
Smith  from  Tom  Brown.  It  is  much  more  desirable 
for  the  lawyer  to  be  able  to  remember  the  necessary  de- 
tails of  his  case  than  to  be  able  to  recall  all  the  various 
athletic  records  of  the  year;  and  so  on. 

In  order  to  be  a  good  memory  for  us,  our  memory 
must  be  faithful  in  dealing  with  the  material  which 
constitutes  the  needs  of  our  vocations.  Our  memory 
may,  and  should,  bring  to  us  many  things  outside  of  our 
immediate  vocations,  else  our  lives  will  be  narrow;  but 
its  chief  concern  and  most  accurate  work  must  be  along 
the  path  of  our  everyday  requirements  at  its  hands,  j 
And  this  works  out  well  in  connection  with  the  physiolo- 
gical laws  which  were  stated  a  little  while  since,  pro- 
viding that  our  vocations  are  along  the  line  of  our 
interests.  For  the  things  with  which  we  work  daily, 
and  in  which  we  are  interested,  will  be  often  thought  of 
together,  and  hence  will  become  well  associated.  They 
will  be  frequently  recalled,  and  hence  more  easily  re- 
memlxTcd ;  they  will  be  vividly  experienced  as  the  in- 
evitable result  of  interest,  and  this  goes  far  to  insure 
recall. 


MEMORY  '       175 

7.    MEMOEY  DEVICES 

Many  devices  have  been  invented  for  training  or  using 
the  memory,  and  not  a  few  worthless  "systems"  have 
been  imposed  by  conscienceless  fakers  upon  uninformed 
people.  All  memorizing  finally  must  go  back  to  the  fun- 
damental laws  of  brain  activity  and  the  rules  growing 
out  of  these  laws.  There  is  no  "royal  road"  to  a  good 
memory. 

The  Effects  of  Cramming. — Not  a  few  students  depend 
on  cramming  for  much  of  their  learning.  If  this  method 
of  study  would  yield  as  valuable  permanent  results,  it 
would  be  by  far  the  most  sensible  and  economical  method 
to  use ;  for  under  the  stress  of  necessity  we  often  are  able 
to  accomplish  results  much  faster  than  when  no  pressure 
is  resting  upon  us.  The  difficulty  is,  however,  that  the 
results  are  not  permanent ;  the  facts  learned  do  not  have 
time  to  seek  out  and  link  themselves  to  well-established 
associates;  learned  in  an  hour,  their  retention  is  as 
ephemeral  as  the  application  which  gave  them  to  us. 

Facts  which  are  needed  but  temporarily .  and  which 
cannot  become  a  part  of  our  body  of  permanent  knowl- 
edge may  profitably  be  learned  by  cramming.  The  law- 
yer needs  many  details  for  the  case  he  is  trying,  which 
not  only  are  valueless  to  him  as  soon  as  the  case  is  de- 
cided, but  would  positively  be  in  his  way.  He  may  prof- 
itably cram  such  facts.  But  those  facts  which  are  to 
become  a  permanent  part  of  his  mental  equipment,  such 
as  the  fundamental  principles  of  law,  he  cannot  cram. 
These  he  must  have  in  a  logical  chain  which  will  not 
leave  their  recall  dependent  upon  a  chance  cue. 
Crammed  facts  may  serve  us  during  a  recitation  or  an 
examination,  but  they  never  really  become  a  part  of  us. 
Nothing  can  take  the  place  of  the  logical  placing  of  facts 


176  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

if  they  are  to  be  remembered  with  facility,  and  be  usable 
in  thinking  when  recalled. 

Remembering  Isolated  Facts. — But  after  all  this  is 
taken  into  consideration  there  still  remain  a  large  num- 
ber of  facts  which  refuse  to  fit  into  any  connected  or 
logical  system.  Or,  if  they  do  belong  with  some  system, 
their  connection  is  not  very  close,  and  we  have  more 
need  for  the  few  individual  facts  than  for  the  system 
as  a  whole.  Hence  we  must  have  some  means  of  remem- 
bering such  facts  other  than  by  connecting  them  with 
their  logical  associations.  Such  facts  as  may  be  typified 
by  the  multiplication  table,  certain  dates,  events,  names, 
numbers,  errands,  and  engagements  of  various  kinds — 
all  these  need  to  be  remembered  accurately  and  quickly 
when  the  occasion  for  them  arises.  We  must  be  able  to 
recall  them  with  facility,  so  that  the  occasion  will  not 
have  passed  by  before  we  can  secure  them  and  we  have 
failed  to  do  our  part  because  of  the  lapse. 

With  facts  of  this  type  the  means  of  securing  a 
good  memory  are  the  same  as  in  the  case  of  logical 
memory,  except  that  we  must  of  necessity  forego  the 
linking  to  naturally  related  associates.  We  can,  how- 
ever, take  advantage  of  the  three  laws  which  have  been 
given.  If  these  methods  are  used  faithfully,  then  we 
have  done  what  we  can  in  the  way  of  insuring  the  recall 
of  facts  of  this  type,  unless  we  associate  them  with  some 
artificial  cue,  such  as  tying  a  thread  around  our  finger 
to  remember  an  errand,  or  learning  the  multiplication 
table  by  singing  it.  We  are  not  to  be  too  ready  to  ex- 
cuse ourselves,  however,  if  we  have  forgotten  to  mail 
the  letter  or  deliver  the  message ;  for  our  attention  may 
have  been  very  lax  when  we  recorded  the  direction  in 
the  first  place,  and  we  may  never  have  taken  the  trouble 
to  think  of  the  matter  between  the  time  it  was  given 


MEMORY  177 

Into  our  keeping  and  the  time  we  were  to  perform  the 
errand. 

Mnemonic  Devices. — IMany  ingenious  devices  have  been 
invented  to  assist  the  memory.  No  doubt  each  one  of 
you  has  some  way  of  your  own  of  remembering  certain 
things  committed  to  you,  or  some  much-needed  fact 
which  has  a  tendency  to  elude  you.  You  may  not  tie 
the  traditional  string  around  your  finger  or  place  your 
watch  in  the  wrong  pocket ;  but  if  not,  you  have  invented 
some  method  which  suits  your  convenience  better.  While 
many  books  have  been  written,  and  many  lectures  given 
exploiting  mnemonic  systems,  they  are,  however,  all 
founded  upon  the  same  general  principle:  namely,  that 
of  association  of  ideas  in  the  mind.  They  all  make  use 
of  the  same  basis  for  memory  that  any  of  us  use  every 
time  we  remember  anything,  from  the  commonest  event 
which  occurred  last  hour  to  the  most  abstruse  bit  of 
philosophy  which  we  may  have  in  our  minds.  They 
all  tie  the  fact  to  be  remembered  to  some  other  fact 
which  is  sure  of  recall,  and  then  trust  the  old  fact  to 
bring  the  new  along  with  it  when  it  again  comes  into 
the  mind. 

Artificial  devices  may  be  permissible  in  remembering 
the  class  of  facts  which  have  no  logical  associates  to 
which  we  can  relate  them ;  but  even  then  I  cannot  help 
feeling  that  if  we  should  use  the  same  care  and  inge- 
nuity in  carefully  recording  the  seemingly  unrelated 
facts  that  we  do  in  working  out  the  device  and  making 
the  association  in  it,  we  should  discover  hidden  relations 
for  most  of  the  facts  we  wish  to  remember,  and  we 
should  be  able  to  insure  their  recall  as  certainly  and  in 
a  better  way  than  through  the  device.  Then,  also,  we 
should  not  be  in  danger  of  handing  over  to  the  device 
various  facts  for  which  we  should  discover  relations,  thus 


178  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

placing  them  in  the  logical  body  of  our  usable  knowledge 
where  they  belong, 

8.     PROBLEMS   IN  OBSERVATION  AND  INTROSPECTION 

1.  Carefully  consider  your  own  powers  of  memory  and  see 
whether  you  can  decide  which  of  the  four  types  of  brain 
you  have.  Apply  similar  tests  to  your  classmates  or  a  group 
of  school  children  whom  you  have  a  chance  to  observe.  Be 
sure  to  take  into  account  the  effects  of  past  training  or  habits 
of  memory. 

2.  Watch  in  your  own  memorizing  and  also  that  of  school 
children  for  failures  in  recall  caused  by  lack  of  proper  asso- 
ciations. Why  is  it  particularly  hai-d  to  commit  what  one  does 
not  undei'stand? 

3.  Observe  a  class  in  a  recitation  or  an  examination  and 
seek  to  discover  whether  any  defects  of  memory  revealed  are 
to  be  explained  by  lack  of  (1)  repetition,  (2)  recency,  (3) 
vividness  in  learning. 

4.  Make  a  study  of  your  own  class  and  also  of  a  group  of 
children  in  school  to  discover  their  methods  of  memorizing. 
Have  in  mind  the  rules  for  memorizing  given  in  section  5  of 
this  chapter. 

5.  Observe  by  introspection  your  method  of  recall  of  his- 
torical events  you  have  studied,  and  note  whether  images  form 
an  iini)ortant  part  of  your  niemoi-y  material;  or  does  your 
recall  consist  chiefly  of  bare  facts?  In  how  far  does  this  de- 
pend on  your  method  of  learning  the  facts  in  the  first  place? 

6.  Carefully  consider  your  experience  from  cramming  your 
lessons.  Does  Ihe  material  learned  in  this  way  stay  with  you? 
Do  you  understand  it  and  find  yourself  able  to  use  it  as  well 
as  stuff  learned  during  a  longer  interval  and  with  more  time 
for  associations  to  form? 


CHAPTER    XII 

THINKING 

No  word  is  more  constantly  on  our  lips  than  the  word 
think.  A  hundred  times  a  day  we  tell  what  we  think 
about  this  thing  or  that.  Any  exceptional  power  of 
thought  classes  us  among  the  efficient  of  our  generation. 
It  is  in  their  ability  to  think  that  men  stand  preemi- 
nently above  the  animals. 

1.     DIFFERENT  TYPES  OF  THINKING 

The  term  think,  or  thinking,  is  employed  in  so  many 
different  senses  that  it  will  be  well  first  of  all  to  come  to 
an  understanding  as  to  its  various  uses.  Four  different 
types  of  thinking  which  we  shall  note  are :  ^  ( 1 )  chance, 
or  idle,  thinking;  (2)  thinking  in  the  form  of  uncritical 
belief;  (3)  assimilative  thinking;  and  (4)  deliberative 
thinking. 

Chance  or  Idle  Thinking. — Our  thinking  is  of  the 
chance  or  idle  kind  when  we  think  to  no  conscious  end. 
No  particular  problem  is  up  for  solution,  and  the  stream 
of  thought  drifts  along  in  idleness.  In  such  thinking, 
immediate  interest,  some  idle  fancy,  the  impulse  of  the 
moment,  or  the  suggestions  from  our  environment  deter- 
mine the  train  of  associations  and  give  direction  to  our 
thought.  In  a  sense,  we  surrender  our  mental  bark  to 
the  winds  of  circumstance  to  drive  it  whithersoever  they 

'  Cf .  Dewey,  "How  We  Think,"  p.  2  ff. 

179 


180  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

will  without  let  or  hindrance  from  us.  Since  no  results 
are  sought  from  our  thinking,  none  are  obtained.  The 
best  of  us  spend  more  time  in  these  idle  trains  of  thought 
than  we  would  like  to  admit,  while  inferior  and  untrained 
minds  seldom  rise  above  this  barren  thought  level.  Not 
infrequently  even  when  we  are  studying  a  lesson  which 
demands  our  best  thought  power  we  find  that  an  idle 
chain  of  associations  has  supplanted  the  more  rigid  type 
of  thinking  and  appropriated  the  field. 

Uncritical  Belief.— We  often  say  that  we  think  a  cer- 
tain thing  is  true  or  false  when  we  have,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  done  little  or  no  thinking  about  it.  "We  only  be- 
lieve, or  uncritically  accept,  the  common  point  of  view 
as  to  the  truth  or  untruth  of  the  matter  concerned.  The 
ancients  believed  that  the  earth  was  flat,  and  the  savages 
that  eclipses  were  caused  by  animals  eating  up  the  moon. 
Not  a  few  people  today  believe  that  potatoes  and  other 
vegetables  should  be  planted  at  a  certain  phase  of  the 
moon,  that  sickness  is  a  visitation  of  Providence,  and 
that  various  "charms"  are  potent  to  bring  good  fortune 
or  ward  off  disaster.  Proba])ly  not  one  in  a  thousand  of 
those  who  accept  such  beliefs  could  give,  or  have  ever 
tried  to  give,  any  rational  reason  for  their  point  of 
view. 

Rut  we  must  not  be  too  liarsh  toward  such  crude  illus- 
trations of  uncritical  tli inking.  It  is  entirely  possible 
that  not  all  of  us  who  pride  ourselves  on  our  trained 
powers  of  thought  could  give  good  reasons  discovered 
by  our  own  thinking  why  we  think  our  political  party, 
our  church,  or  our  social  organization  is  bettor  than  some 
other  one.  How  few  of  us,  after  all,  really  discover  our 
creed,  join  a  church,  or  choose  a  political  party!  We 
adopt  the  points  of  view  of  our  nation  or  our  group 
niu(;h  as  we  adopt  their  customs  and  dress— not  because 


THINKING  181 

we  are  convinced  by  thinking  that  they  are  best,  but 
because  they  are  less  trouble. 

Assimilative  Thinking. — It  is  this  type  of  thinking 
that  occupies  us  when  we  seek  to  appropriate  new 
facts  or  ideas  and  understand  them;  that  is,  relate 
them  to  knowledge  already  on  hand.  We  think  aft«r 
this  fashion  in  much  of  our  study  in  schools  and  text- 
books. The  problem  for  our  thought  is  not  so  much 
one  of  invention  or  discovery  as  of  grasp  and  assimila- 
tion. Our  thinking  is  to  apprehend  meanings  and 
relations,  and  so  unify  and  give  coherence  to  our  knowl- 
edge. 

In  the  absence  of  this  type  of  thinking  one  may  com- 
mit to  memory  many  facts  that  he  does  not  understand, 
gather  much  information  that  contains  little  meaning 
to  him,  and  even  achieve  very  creditable  scholastic 
grades  that  stand  for  a  small  amount  of  education  or 
development.  For  all  information,  to  become  vital  and 
usable,  must  be  thought  into  relation  to  our  present  ac- 
tive, functioning  body  of  knowledge ;  therefore  assimila- 
tive thinking  is  fundamental  to  true  mastery  and 
learning. 

Deliberative  Thinking. — Deliberative  thinking  consti- 
tutes the  highest  type  of  thought  process.  In  order  to 
do  deliberative  thinking  there  is  necessary,  first  of  all, 
what  Dewey  calls  a  "split-road"  situation.  A  traveler 
going  along  a  well-beaten  highway,  says  Dr.  Dewey,  does 
not  deliberate ;  he  simply  keeps  on  going.  But  let  the 
highway  split  into  two  roads  at  a  fork,  only  one  of  which 
leads  to  the  desired  destination,  and  now  a  problem  con- 
fronts him;  he  must  take  one  road  or  the  other,  but 
which?  The  intelligent  traveler  will  at  once  go  to  seek- 
ing for  evidence  as  to  which  road  he  should  choose.  He 
will  balance  this  fact  against  that  fact,  and  this  prob- 


182  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

ability  against  that  probability,  in  an  effort  to  arrive  at 
a  solution  of  his  problem. 

Before  we  can  engage  in  deliberative  thinking  we  must 
be  confronted  by  some  problem,  some  such  ^'split-road" 
situation  in  our  mental  stream — we  must  have  something 
to  think  about.  It  is  this  fact  that  makes  one  writer 
say  that  the  great  purpose  of  one's  education  is  not  to 
solve  all  his  problems  for  him.  It  is  rather  to  help  him 
(1)  to  discover  problems,  or  "split-road"  situations,  (2) 
to  assist  him  in  gathering  the  facts  necessary  for  their 
solution,  and  (3)  to  train  him  in  the  weighing  of  his 
facts  or  evidence,  that  is,  in  deliberative  thinking.  Only 
as  we  learn  to  recognize  the  true  problems  that  confront 
us  in  our  own  lives  and  in  society  about  us  can  we  be- 
come thinkers  in  the  best  sense.  Our  own  plans  and 
projects,  the  questions  of  right  and  wrong  that  are  con- 
stantly arising,  the  social,  political  and  religious  prob- 
lems awaiting  solution,  all  afford  the  opportunity  and 
the  necessity  for  deliberative  thinking.  And  unhappy  is 
the  pupil  whose  school  work  does  not  set  the  problems 
and  employ  the  methods  which  will  insure  training  in 
this  as  well  as  in  the  assimilative  type  of  thinking. 
Every  school  subject,  besides  supplying  certain  informa- 
tion to  be  "learned,"  should  present  its  problems  re- 
quiring true  deliberative  thinking  within  the  range  of 
development  and  ability  of  the  pupil,  and  no  subject — 
literature,  history,  science,  language— is  without  many 
such  problems. 

2.     THE  FUNCTION  OF  THINKING 

All  true  thinking  is  for  tlu;  i)urpose  of  discovering 
relations  between  the  things  we  think  about.  Imagine  a 
world  in  whicli  nothing  is  related  to  anything  else;  in 


THINKING  183 

which  every  object  perceived,  remembered,  or  imagined, 
stands  absolutely  by  itself,  independent  and  self-suffi- 
cient !  What  a  chaos  it  would  be !  We  might  perceive, 
remember,  and  imagine  all  the  various  objects  we  please, 
but  without  the  power  to  think  them  together,  they 
would  all  be  totally  unrelated,  and  hence  have  no  mean- 
ing. 

Meaning  Depends  on  Relations. — To  have  a  rational 
meaning  for  us,  things  must  always  be  defined  in  terms 
of  other  things,  or  in  terms  of  their  uses.  Fuel  is  that 
which  feeds  fire.  Food  is  what  is  eaten  for  nourish- 
ment. A  locomotive  is  a  machine  for  drawing  a  train. 
Books  are  to  read,  pianos  to  play,  halls  to  throw,  schools 
to  instruct,  friends  to  enjoy,  and  so  on  through  the  whole 
list  of  objects  which  we  know  or  can  define.  Everything 
depends  for  its  meaning  on  its  relation  to  otlier  things ; 
and  the  more  of  these  relations  we  can  discover,  the  more 
fully  do  we  see  the  meaning.  Thus  balls  may  have  other 
uses  than  to  throw,  schools  other  functions  than  to  in- 
struct, and  friends  mean  much  more  to  us  than  mere 
enjoyment.  And  just  in  the  degree  in  which  we  have 
realized  these  different  relations,  have  we  defined  the 
object,  or,  in  other  words,  have  we  seen  its  meaning. 

The  Function  of  Thinking  is  to  Discover  Relations. — 
Now  it  is  by  thinking  that  these  relations  are  discovered. 
This  is  the  function  of  thinking.  Thinking  takes  the  va- 
rious separate  items  of  our  experience  and  discovers  to 
us  the  relations  existing  among  them,  and  builds  them 
together  into  a  unified,  related,  and  usable  body  of  knowl- 
edge, threading  each  little  bit  on  the  string  of  rela- 
tionship which  runs  through  the  whole.  It  was,  no 
doubt,  this  thought  which  Tennyson  had  in  mind  when 
he  wrote: 


184  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

Flower  in  the  crannied  wall, 

I  pluck  you  out  of  the  crannies, 

I  hold  you  here,  root  and  all,  in  my  hand, 

Little  flower — but  if  I  could  understand 

What  you  are,  root  and  all,  and  all  in  all, 

I  should  know  what  God  and  man  is. 

Starting  in  with  even  so  simple  a  thing  as  a  little 
flower,  if  he  could  discover  all  the  relations  which 
every  part  bears  to  every  other  part  and  to  all  other 
things  besides,  he  would  finally  reach  the  meaning 
of  God  and  man.  For  each  separate  thing,  be  it 
large  or  small,  forms  a  link  in  an  unbroken  chain 
of  relationships  which  binds  the  universe  into  an  or- 
dered whole. 

Near  and  Remote  Relations. — The  relations  discovered 
through  our  thinking  may  be  very  close  and  simple  ones, 
as  when  a  child  sees  the  relation  between  his  bottle  and 
his  dinner ;  or  they  may  be  very  remote  ones,  as  when 
Newton  saw  the  relation  between  the  falling  of  an  apple 
and  the  motion  of  the  planets  in  their  orbits.  But 
whether  simple  or  remote,  the  seeing  of  the  relationships 
is  in  both  cases  alike  thinking;  for  thinking  is  nothing, 
in  its  last  analysis,  but  the  discovering  of  the  relation- 
ships which  exist  between  the  various  objects  in  our  men- 
tal stream. 

Thinking  passes  through  all  grades  of  complexity, 
from  tlie  first  faint  dawnings  in  the  mind  of  the  babe 
when  it  sees  the  relation  between  the  mother  and  its 
feeding,  on  to  tlie  mighty  grasp  of  the  sage  who  is  able 
to  "think  God's  thoughts  after  II im."  liut  it  all  comes 
to  the  same  end  finally — the  bringing  to  light  of  new 
meanings  through  the  discovery  of  new  relations.  And 
wliatever  does  this  is  thinking. 

Child  and  Adult  Tliinking,, — What  constitutes  the  dif- 


THINKING  185 

ference  in  the  thinking  of  the  child  and  that  of  the  sage  ? 
Let  us  see  whether  we  can  discover  this  difference.  In 
the  first  place  the  relations  seen  by  the  child  are  imme- 
diate relations:  the}^  exist  between  simple  percepts  or 
images ;  the  remote  and  the  general  are  beyond  his  reach. 
He  has  not  had  sufficient  experience  to  enable  him  to 
discover  remote  relations.  He  cannot  think  things  which 
are  absent  from  him,  or  which  he  has  never  known. 
The  child  could  by  no  possibility  have  seen  in  the  falling 
apple  what  Newton  saw ;  for  the  child  knew  nothing  of 
the  planets  in  their  orbits,  and  hence  could  not  see  re- 
lations in  which  these  formed  one  of  the  terms.  The 
sage,  on  the  other  hand,  is  not  limited  to  his  immediate 
percepts  or  their  images.  He  can  see  remote  relations. 
He  can  go  beyond  individuals,  and  think  in  classes.  The 
falling  apple  is  not  a  mere  falling  apple  to  him, 
but  one  of  a  class  of  falling  bodies.  Besides  a  rich  ex- 
perience full  of  valuable  facts,  the  trained  thinker 
has  acquired  also  the  habit  of  looking  out  for  relations ; 
he  has  learned  that  this  is  the  method  par  excellence 
of  increasing  his  store  of  knowledge  and  of  rendering 
effective  the  knowledge  he  has.  He  has  learned  how  to 
think. 

The  chief  business  of  the  child  is  the  collection  of 
the  materials  of  thought,  seeing  only  the  more  necessary 
and  obvious  relations  as  he  proceeds ;  his  chief  business 
when  older  grown  is  to  seek  out  the  network  of  relations 
which  unites  this  mass  of  material,  and  through  this 
process  to  systematize  and  give  new  meanings  to  the 
whole. 

3.     THE  MECHANISM  OF  THINKING 

It  is  evident  from  the  foregoing  discussion  that  we 
may  include  under  the  term  thinking  all  sorts  of  men- 


186  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

tal  processes  by  which  relations  are  apprehended  be- 
tween different  objects  of  thought.  Thus  young  children 
think  as  soon  as  they  begin  to  understand  something  of 
the  meaning  of  the  objects  of  their  environment.  Even 
animals  think  by  means  of  simple  and  direct  associations. 
Thinking  may  therefore  go  on  in  terms  of  the  simplest 
and  most  immediate,  or  the  most  complex  and  distant 
relationships. 

Sensations  ajid  Percepts  as  Elements  in  Thinking. — Re- 
lations seen  between  sensations  would  mean  something, 
but  not  much;  relations  seen  between  objects  immedi- 
ately present  to  the  senses  would  mean  much  more ;  but 
our  thinking  must  go  far  beyond  the  present,  and  like- 
wise far  beyond  individual  objects.  It  must  be  able  ta 
annihilate  both  time  and  space,  and  to  deal  with  mil- 
lions of  individuals  together  in  one  group  or  class.  Only 
in  this  way  can  our  thinking  go  beyond  that  of  the  lower 
animals ;  for  a  wise  rat,  even,  may  come  to  see  the  rela- 
tion between  a  trap  and  danger,  or  a  horse  the  relation 
between  pulling  with  his  teeth  at  the  piece  of  string  on 
the  gate  latch,  and  securing  his  liberty. 

But  it  takes  the  farther-reaching  mind  of  man  to 
iwuent  the  trap  and  the  latch.  Perception  alone  does 
not  go  far  enough.  It  is  limited  to  immediately  present 
objects  and  their  most  obvious  relations.  The  percep- 
tual image  is  likewise  subject  to  similar  limitations. 
"While  it  enables  us  to  dispense  with  the  immediate 
presence  of  the  object,  yet  it  deals  with  separate  in- 
dividuals; and  the  world  is  too  full  of  individual  ob- 
jects for  us  to  deal  with  them  separately.  It  is  in 
conception,  judgment,  and  reasoning  that  true  think- 
ing takes  place.  Our  next  purpos(i  will  therefore  be 
to  study  these  somewhat  more  closely,  and  see  how  they 
combine  in  our  thinking. 


THINKING  187 


4.     THE  CONCEPT 


Fortunately  for  our  thinking,  the  great  external  world, 
with  its  millions  upon  millions  of  individual  objects,  is 
so  ordered  that  these  objects  can  be  grouped  into  com- 
paratively few  great  classes ;  and  for  many  purposes  we 
can  deal  with  the  class  as  a  whole  instead  of  with  the 
separate  individuals  of  the  class.  Thus  there  are  an 
infinite  number  of  individual  objects  in  the  world  which 
are  composed  of  matter.  Yet  all  these  myriads  of  in- 
dividuals may  be  classed  under  the  two  great  heads  of 
inanimate  and  animate.  Taking  one  of  these  again :  all 
animate  forms  may  be  classed  as  either  plants  or  ani- 
mals. And  these  classes  may  again  be  subdivided  indefi- 
nitely. Animals  include  mammals,  birds,  reptiles,  in- 
sects, mollusks,  and  many  other  classes  besides,  each  class 
of  which  may  be  still  further  separated  into  its  orders, 
families,  genera,  species,  and  individuals.  This  arrange- 
ment economizes  our  thinking  by  allowing  us  to  think  in 
large  terms. 

The  Concepts  Serve  to  Group  and  Classify.— But  the 
somewhat  complicated  form  of  classification  just  de- 
scribed did  not  come  to  man  ready-made.  Someone  had 
to  see  the  relationship  existing  among  the  myriads  of 
animals  of  a  certain  class,  and  group  these  together  un- 
der the  general  term  mammals.  Likewise  with  birds, 
reptiles,  insects,  and  all  the  rest.  In  order  to  accom- 
plish this,  many  individuals  of  each  class  had  to  be  ob- 
served, the  qualities  common  to  all  members  of  the  class 
discriminated  from  those  not  common,  and  the  common 
qualities  retained  as  the  measure  by  which  to  test  the 
admission  of  other  individuals  into  this  class.  The 
process  of  classification  is  made  possible  by  what  the  psy- 
chologist calls  the  cmicept.     The  concept  enables  us  to 


188  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

think  iirds  as  well  as  bluebirds,  robins,  and  wrens;  it 
enables  us  to  think  men  as  well  as  Tom,  Dick,  and  Harry. 
In  other  words,  the  concept  lies  at  the  hottom  of  all 
thinking  which  rises  ahove  the  seeing  of  the  simplest 
relations  between  immediately  present  objects. 

Growth  of  a  Concept. — We  can  perhaps  best  under- 
stand the  nature  of  the  concept  if  we  watch  its  growth 
in  the  thinking  of  a  child.  Let  us  see  how  the  child 
forms  the  concept  dog,  under  which  he  is  able  finally  to 
class  the  several  hundred  or  the  several  thousand  dif- 
ferent dogs  with  which  his  thinking  requires  him  to  deal. 
The  child's  first  acquaintance  with  a  dog  is,  let  us  sup- 
pose, with  a  pet  poodle,  white  in  color,  and  named  Gyp. 
At  this  stage  in  the  child's  experience,  dog  and  Gyp 
are  entirely  synonymous,  including  Gyp's  color,  size, 
and  all  other  qualities  which  the  child  has  discovered. 
But  now  let  him  see  another  pet  poodle  which  is  like 
Gyp  except  that  it  is  black  in  color.  Here  comes  the 
first  cleavage  between  Gyp  and  dog  as  synonyms:  dog 
no  longer  means  white,  but  may  mean  black.  Next  let 
the  child  see  a  brown  spaniel.  Not  only  will  white  and 
black  now  no  longer  answer  to  dog,  but  the  roly-poly 
poodle  form  also  has  been  lost ;  for  the  spaniel  is  more 
slender.  Let  the  child  go  on  fi'oni  this  until  he  has 
seen  many  different  dogs  of  all  varieties:  poodles,  bull- 
dogs, setters,  shepherds,  cockers,  and  a  host  of  others. 
"What  has  happened  to  his  dog,  which  at  the  beginning 
meant  the  one  particular  little  individual  with  which  he 
played  ? 

Dog  is  no  longer  white  or  black  or  brown  or  gray: 
color  is  not  an  essential  (}uality,  so  it  has  dropped  out; 
size  is  no  longer  essential  except  within  very  broad  lim- 
its; shagginess  or  smoothness  of  coat  is  a  very  incon- 
stant quality,  so  this  is  dropped ;  form  varies  so  much 


THINKING  189 

from  the  fat  pug  to  the  slender  hound  that  it  is  dis- 
carded, except  within  broad  limits;  good  nature,  play- 
fulness, friendliness,  and  a  dozen  other  qualities  are 
likewise  found  not  to  belong  in  common  to  all  dogs,  and 
so  have  had  to  go;  and  all  that  is  left  to  his  dog  is 
four-footedness,  and  a  certain  general  form,  and  a  few 
other  dog  qualities  of  habit  of  life  and  disposition.  As 
the  term  dog  has  been  gaining  in  extent,  that  is,  as  more 
individuals  have  been  observed  and  classed  under  it,  it 
has  correspondingly  been  losing  in  content,  or  it  has 
been  losing  in  the  specific  qualities  which  belong  to  it. 
Yet  it  must  not  be  thought  that  the  process  is  altogether 
one  of  elimination ;  for  new  qualities  which  are  present 
in  all  the  individuals  of  a  class,  but  at  first  overlooked, 
are  continually  being  discovered  as  experience  grows, 
and  built  into  the  developing  concept. 

Definition  of  Concept. — A  concept,  then,  is  our  general 
idea  or  notion  of  a  class  of  individual  objects.  Its  func- 
tion is  to  enable  us  to  classify  our  knowledge,  and  thus 
deal  with  classes  or  universals  in  our  thinking.  Often 
the  basis  of  a  concept  consists  of  an  image,  as  when  you 
get  a  hazy  visual  image  of  a  mass  of  people  when  I  sug- 
gest mankind  to  you.  Yet  the  core,  or  the  vital,  func- 
tioning part  of  a  concept  is  its  meaning.  Whether  this 
meaning  attaches  to  an  image  or  a  word  or  stands  rela- 
tively or  completely  independent  of  either,  does  not 
so  much  matter;  but  our  meanings  must  be  right,  else 
all  our  thinking  is  wrong. 

Language  and  the  Concept.— We  think  in  words.  None 
has  failed  to  watch  the  flow  of  his  thought  as  it  is  car- 
ried along  by  words  like  so  many  little  boats  moving 
along  the  mental  stream,  each  with  its  freight  of  moan- 
ing. And  no  one  has  escaped  the  temporary  balking  of 
his  thought  by  failure  to  find  a  suitable  word  to  convey 


190  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

the  intended  meaning.  What  the  grammarian  calls  the 
common  nouns  of  our  language  are  the  words  by  which 
we  name  our  concepts  and  are  able  to  speak  of  them 
to  others.  "We  define  a  common  noun  as  "the  name  of 
a  class,"  and  we  define  a  concept  as  the  meaning  or  idea 
we  have  of  a  class.  It  is  easy  to  see  that  when  we  have 
named  these  class  ideas  we  have  our  list  of  common 
nouns.  The  study  of  the  language  of  a  people  may 
therefore  reveal  much  of  their  type  of  thought. 

The  Necessity  for  Growing  Concepts, — The  develop- 
ment of  our  concepts  constitutes  a  large  part  of  our  edu- 
cation. For  it  is  evident  that,  since  thinking  rests  so 
fundamentally  on  concepts,  progress  in  our  mental  life 
must  depend  on  a  constant  growth  in  the  number  and 
character  of  our  concepts.  Not  only  must  we  keep  on 
adding  new  concepts,  but  the  old  must  not  remain  static. 
"When  our  concepts  stop  growing,  our  minds  have  ceased 
to  grow — we  no  longer  learn.  This  arrest  of  develop- 
ment is  often  seen  in  persons  who  have  settled  into  a  life 
of  narrow  routine,  where  the  demands  are  few  and 
of  a  simple  nature.  Unless  they  rise  above  their  routine, 
they  early  become  "old  fogies."  Their  concepts  petrify 
from  lack  of  use  and  the  constant  reconstruction  which 
growth  necessitates. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  person  who  has  upon  him  the* 
constant  demand  to  meet  new  situations  or  do  better  in 
old  ones  will  keep  on  enriching  his  old  concepts  and 
forming  new  ones,  or  else,  unable  to  do  this,  he  will  fail 
in  his  position.  And  the  person  who  keeps  on  steadily 
enriching  his  concepts  has  discovered  the  secret  of  per- 
petual youth  so  far  as  his  mental  life  is  concerned.  For 
him  there  is  no  old  age ;  his  thought  will  be  always  fresh, 
his  experience  always  accumulating,  and  his  knowledge 
growing  more  valuabh;  and  usable. 


THINKING  191 


5.     JUDGMENT 


But  in  the  building  up  of  percepts  and  concepts,  as 
well  as  in  making  use  of  thera  after  they  are  formed, 
another  process  of  thinking  enters;  namely,  the  process 
of  judging. 

ITature  of  Judgment. — Judging  enters  more  or  less  into 
all  our  thinking,  from  the  simplest  to  the  most  complex. 
The  babe  lies  staring  at  his  bottle,  and  finally  it  dawns  on 
his  sluggish  mind  that  this  is  the  object  from  which  he 
gets  his  dinner.  He  has  performed  a  judgment.  That 
is,  he  has  alternately  directed  his  attention  to  the  object 
before  him  and  to  his  image  of  former  nursing,  discov- 
ered the  relation  existing  between  the  two,  and  affirmed 
to  himself,  "This  is  what  gives  me  my  dinner."  "Bot- 
tle" and  "what-gives-me-my-dinner"  are  essentially 
identical  to  the  child.  Judgment  is,  then,  the  afjirmatio^ii 
of  the  essential  ideiitity  of  meaning  of  two  objects  of 
thought.  Even  if  the  proposition  in  which  we  state  our 
judgment  has  in  it  a  negative,  the  definition  will  still 
hold,  for  the  mental  process  is  the  same  in  either  case. 
It  is  as  much  a  judgment  if  we  say,  "The  day  is  not- 
cold,"  as  if  we  say,  "The  day  is  cold." 

Judgment  Used  in  Percepts  and  Concepts. — How  judg- 
ment enters  into  the  forming  of  our  percepts  may  be 
seen  from  the  illustration  just  given.  The  act  by  which 
the  child  perceived  his  bottle  liad  in  it  a  large  element 
of  judging.  He  had  to  compare  two  objects  of  thought 
— the  one  from  past  experience  in  the  form  of  images, 
and  the  other  from  the  present  object,  in  the  form  of 
sensations  from  the  bottle— and  then  affinn  their  essen- 
tial identity.  Of  course  it  is  not  meant  that  what  I 
have  described  consciously  takes  place  in  the  mind  of  the 
child;  but  some  such  process  lies  at  the  bottom  of  every 


192  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

perception,    whether    of    the    child    or    anyone     else. 

Likewise  it  may  be  seen  that  the  forming  of  concepts 
depends  on  judgment.  Every  time  that  we  meet  a  new 
object  which  has  to  be  assigned  its  place  in  our  clas- 
sification, judgment  is  required.  Suppose  the  child,  with 
his  immature  concept  dog,  sees  for  the  first  time  a  grey- 
hound. He  must  compare  this  new  specimen  with  his 
concept  dog,  and  decide  that  this  is  or  is  not  a  dog.  If 
he  discovers  the  identity  of  meaning  in  the  essentials  of 
the  two  objects  of  thought,  his  judgment  will  be  affirma- 
tive, and  his  concept  will  be  modified  in  whatever  extent 
greyhound  will  affect  it. 

Judgment  Leads  to  General  Truths. — But  judgment 
goes  much  farther  than  to  assist  in  building  percepts 
and  concepts.  It  takes  our  concepts  after  they  are 
formed  and  discovers  and  affirms  relations  between  them, 
thus  enabling  us  finally  to  relate  classes  as  well  as  in- 
dividuals. It  carries  our  thinking  over  into  the  realm  of 
the  universal,  where  we  are  not  hampered  by  particulars. 
Let  us  see  how  this  is  done.  Suppose  we  have  the  con- 
cept man  and  the  concept  animal,  and  that  we  think  of 
these  two  concepts  in  their  relation  to  each  other.  The 
mind  analyzes  each  into  its  elements,  compares  them, 
and  finds  the  essential  identity  of  meaning  in  a  sufficient 
number  to  warrant  llic  judgment,  man  is  an  animal. 
This  judgment  has  given  a  new  bit  of  knowledge,  in  that 
it  has  discovered  to  us  a  new  relation  between  two  great 
classes,  and  hence  given  both,  in  so  far,  a  new  meaning 
and  a  wider  definition.  And  as  this  new  relation  does 
not  pertain  to  any  particular  man  or  any  particular 
animal,  but  includes  all  individuals  in  each  class,  it  has 
carried  us  over  into  universals,  so  that  we  have  a  general 
truth  and  will  not  liave  to  test  each  individual  man 
henceforth  to  see  whetlu^r  he  fits  into  this  relation. 


THINKING  193 

Judgments  also,  as  we  will  see  later,  constitute  the 
material  for  our  reasoning.  Hence  upon  their  validity 
will  depend  the  validity  of  our  reasoning. 

The  Validity  of  Judgments. — Now,  since  every  judg- 
ment is  made  up  of  an  affirmation  of  relation  existing 
between  two  terms,  it  is  evident  that  the  validity  of  the 
judgment  will  depend  on  the  thoroughness  of  our  knowl- 
edge of  the  terms  compared.  If  we  know  but  few  of  the 
attributes  of  either  term  of  the  judgment,  the  judgment 
is  clearly  unsafe.  Imperfect  concepts  lie  at  the  basis  of 
many  of  our  wrong  judgments.  A  young  man  com- 
plained because  his  friend  had  been  expelled  from  col- 
lege for  alleged  misbehavior.    He  said,  "]\Ir.  A was 

the  best  boy  in  the  institution."  It  is  very  evident  that 
someone  had  made  a  mistake  in  judgment.  Surely  no 
college  would  want  to  expel  the  best  boy  in  the  institu- 
tion. Either  my  complainant  or  the  authorities  of  the 
college  had  failed  to  understand  one  of  the  terms  in  the 

judgment.    Either  "Mr.  A "  or  "the  best  boy  in  the 

institution"  had  been  wrongly  interpreted  by  someone. 
Likewise,  one  person  will  say,  "Jones  is  a  good  man," 
while  another  will  say,  "Jones  is  a  rascal."  Such  a 
discrepancy  in  judgment  must  come  from  a  lack  of  ac- 
quaintance with  Jones  or  a  lack  of  knowledge  of  what 
constitutes  a  good  man  or  a  rascal. 

No  doubt  most  of  us  are  prone  to  make  judgments  with 
too  little  knowledge  of  the  terms  we  are  comparing,  ami 
it  is  usually  those  who  have  the  least  reason  for  confi- 
dence in  their  judgments  who  are  the  most  certain  tiiat 
they  cannot  be  mistaken.  The  remedy  for  faulty  judg- 
ments is,  of  course,  in  making  ourselves  more  certain  of 
the  terms  involved,  and  this  in  turn  sends  us  back  for  a 
review  of  our  concepts  or  the  experience  upon  which  the 
terms  depend.     It  is  evident  that  no  two  persons  can 


194  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

have  just  the  same  concepts,  for  all  have  not  had  the 
same  experience  out  of  which  their  concepts  came.  The 
concepts  may  be  named  the  same,  and  may  be  nearly 
enough  alike  so  that  we  can  usually  understand  each 
other;  but,  after  all,  I  have  mine  and  you  have  yours, 
and  if  we  could  each  see  the  other's  in  their  true  light, 
no  doubt  we  should  save  many  misunderstandings  and 
quarrels. 

6.     KEASONING 

All  the  mental  processes  which  we  have  so  far  de- 
scribed find  their  culmination  and  highest  utility  in 
reasoning.  Not  that  reasoning  comes  last  in  the  list  of 
mental  activities,  and  cannot  take  place  until  all  the 
others  have  been  completed,  for  reasoning  is  in  some  de- 
gree present  almost  from  the  dawn  of  consciousness.  The 
difference  between  the  reasoning  of  the  child  and  that 
of  the  adult  is  largely  one  of  degree — of  reach.  Reason- 
ing goes  farther  than  any  of  the  other  processes  of  cog- 
nition, for  it  takes  the  relations  expressed  in  judgments 
and  out  of  these  relations  evolves  still  other  and  more 
ultimate  relations. 

Nature  of  Reasoning. — It  is  hard  to  define  reasoning 
so  as  to  describe  the  precise  process  which  occurs;  for 
it  is  so  intermingled  with  perception,  conception,  and 
judgment,  that  one  can  hardly  separate  them  even  for 
purposes  of  analysis,  much  less  to  separate  thorn  func- 
tionally. We  may,  however,  define  reasoning  provision- 
ally as  thinking  by  means  of  a  series  of  judgments  with 
the  purpose  of  arriving  at  some  definite  end  or  conclu- 
sion. What  do(!S  this  mean?  Professor  Angell  has 
stated  the  matter  so  clearly  that  I  will  quote  his  illustra- 
tion of  the  case: 

"Suppose  that  we  are  about  to  make  a  long  journey 


THINKING  195 

which  necessitates  the  choice  from  among  a  number  of 
possible  routes.  This  is  a  case  of  the  genuinely  prob- 
lematic kind.  It  requires  reflection,  a  weighing  of  the 
pros  and  cons,  and  giving  of  the  final  decision  in  favor 
of  one  or  other  of  several  alternatives.  In  such  a  case 
the  procedure  of  most  of  us  is  after  this  order.  We 
think  of  one  route  as  being  picturesque  and  wholly  novel, 
but  also  as  being  expensive.  We  think  of  another  as 
less  interesting,  but  also  as  less  expensive.  A  third  is, 
we  discover,  the  most  expedient,  but  also  the  most  costly 
of  the  three.  We  find  ourselves  confronted,  then,  with 
the  necessity  of  choosing  with  regard  to  the  relative 
merits  of  cheapness,  beauty,  and  speed.  We  proceed  to 
consider  these  points  in  the  light  of  all  our  interests,  and 
the  decision  more  or  less  makes  itself.  We  find,  for  in- 
stance, that  we  must,  under  the  circumstances,  select  the 
cheapest  route." 

How  Judgments  Function  in  Reasoning. — Such  a  line 
of  thinking  is  very  common  to  everyone,  and  one  that  we 
carry  out  in  one  form  or  another  a  thousand  times  every 
day  we  live.  When  we  come  to  look  closely  at  the  steps 
involved  in  arriving  at  a  conclusion,  we  detect  a  series 
of  judgments — often  not  very  logically  arranged,  to  be 
sure,  but  yet  so  related  that  the  result  is  safely  reached 
in  the  end.  We  compare  our  concept  of.  say,  the  first 
route  and  our  concept  of  picturesqueness,  decide  they 
agree,  and  affirm  the  judgment,  "This  route  is  pictur- 
esque." Likewise  we  arrive  at  the  judgment,  "This 
route  is  also  expensive,  it  is  interesting,  etc."  Then 
we  take  the  other  routes  and  form  our  judgments  con- 
cerning them.  These  judgments  are  all  related  to  eadi 
other  in  some  way,  some  of  them  being  more  intimately 
related  than  others.  AVhich  judgments  remain  as  the  sig- 
nificant ones,  the  ones  which  are  used  to  solve  the  problem 


196  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

finally,  depends  on  which  concepts  are  the  most  vital  for 
us  with  reference  to  the  ultimate  end  in  view.  If  time  is 
the  chief  element,  then  the  form  of  our  reasoning  would 
be  something  like  this:  "Two  of  the  routes  require 
more  than  three  days:  hence  I  must  take  the  third 
route."  If  economy  is  the  important  end,  the  solution 
would  be  as  follows:  "Two  routes  cost  more  than 
$1,000 ;  I  cannot  afford  to  pay  more  than  $800 ;  I  there- 
fore must  patronize  the  third  route." 

In  both  cases  it  is  evident  that  the  conclusion  is 
reached  through  a  comparison  of  two  or  more  judgments. 
This  is  the  essential  difference  between  judgment  and 
reasoning.  Whereas  judgment  discovers  relations  be- 
tween concepts,  reasoning  discovers  relations  hetiveen 
judgments,  and  from  this  evolves  a  new  judgment  which 
is  the  conclusion  sought.  The  example  given  well  illus- 
trates the  ordinary  method  by  which  we  reason  to  con- 
clusions. 

Deduction  and  the  Syllogism. — Logic  may  take  the  con- 
clusion, with  the  two  judgments  on  which  it  is  based, 
and  form  the  three  into  what  is  called  a  syllogism,  of 
which  the  following  is  a  classical  type: 

All  men  are  mortal; 
Socrates  is  a  man, 

Therefore 
Socrates  is  mortal. 

The  first  judgment  is  in  the  form  of  a  proposition  which 
is  called  tlie  major  premise,  because  it  is  general  in  its 
nature,  including  all  men.  The  second  is  the  minor  pre- 
mise, since  it  deals  with  a  particular  man.  The  third  is 
the  conclusion,  in  which  a  new  relation  is  discovered  be- 
tween Socrates  and  mortality. 


THINKING  19/ 

This  form  of  reasoning  is  deductive,  that  is,  it  pro- 
ceeds from  the  general  to  the  particular.  iNIuch  of  our 
reasoning  is  an  abbreviated  form  of  the  syllogism,  and 
will  readily  expand  into  it.  For  instance,  we  say,  "It 
will  rain  tonight,  for  there  is  lightning  in  the  west." 
Expanded  into  the  syllogism  form  it  woukl  be,  "Light- 
ning in  the  west  is  a  sure  sign  of  rain ;  there  is  lightning 
in  the  west  this  evening;  therefore,  it  will  rain  tonight." 
While  we  do  not  commonly  think  in  complete  syllogisms, 
it  is  often  convenient  to  cast  our  reasoning  in  this  form 
to  test  its  validity.  For  example,  a  fallacy  lui-ks  in  the 
generalization,  "Lightning  in  the  west  is  a  sure  sign  of 
rain."     Hence  the  conclusion  is  of  doubtful  validity. 

InductioiL.- — Deduction  is  a  valuable  form  of  reasoniiig, 
but  a  moment's  reflection  will  show  that  something  must 
precede  the  syllogism  in  our  reasoning.  The  major 
premise  must  he  accounted  for.  How  are  we  able  to 
say  that  all  men  are  mortal,  and  that  lightning  in  the 
west  is  a  sure  sign  of  rain?  How  was  this  general  truth 
arrived  at?  There  is  only  one  way,  namely,  through  the 
observation  of  a  large  number  of  particular  instances,  or 
through  induction. 

Induction  is  the  method  of  proceeding  from  the  par- 
ticular to  the  general.  Many  men  are  observed,  and 
it  is  found  that  all  who  have  been  observed  have  died 
under  a  certain  age.  It  is  true  that  not  all  men  have 
been  observed  to  die,  since  many  are  now  living,  and 
many  more  will  no  doubt  come  and  live  in  the  world 
whom  we  cannot  observe,  since  mortality  will  have  over- 
taken us  before  their  advent.  To  this  it  may  be  an- 
swered that  the  men  now  living  have  not  yet  lived  up  to 
the  limit  of  their  time,  and,  besides,  they  have  witliin 
them  the  causes  working  whose  inevitable  effect  has  al- 
ways been  and  always  will  be  death ;  likewise  with  the 


198  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

men  yet  unborn,  they  will  possess  the  same  organism 
as  we,  whose  very  nature  necessitates  mortality.  In  the 
case  of  the  premonitions  of  rain,  the  generalization  is  not 
so  safe,  for  there  have  been  exceptions.  Lightning  in 
the  west  at  night  is  not  always  followed  by  rain,  nor  can 
we  find  inherent  causes  as  in  the  other  case  which  neces- 
sitates rain  as  an  effect. 

The  Necessity  for  Broad  Induction. — Thus  it  is  seen 
that  our  generalizations,  or  major  premises,  are  of  all 
degrees  of  validity.  In  the  case  of  some,  as  the  mor- 
tality of  man,  millions  of  cases  have  been  observed  and 
no  exceptions  found,  but  on  the  contrary,  causes  discov- 
ered whose  operation  renders  the  result  inevitable.  In 
others,  as,  for  instance,  in  the  generalization  once  made, 
*'A11  cloven-footed  animals  chew  their  cud,"  not  only 
had  the  examination  of  individual  cases  not  been  carried 
so  far  as  in  the  former  ease  when  the  generalization  was 
made,  but  there  were  found  no  inherent  causes  residing 
in  cloven-footed  animals  which  make  it  necessary  for 
them  to  chew  their  cud.  That  is,  cloven  feet  and  cud- 
chewing  do  not  of  necessity  go  together,  and  the  case  of 
the  pig  disproves  the  generalization. 

In  practically  no  instance,  however,  is  it  possible  for 
us  to  examine  every  case  upon  which  a  generalization 
is  based  ;  after  examining  a  suffi(^ient  number  of  cases, 
and  particularly  if  there  are  supporting  causes,  we  are 
warranted  in  making  the  "inductive  leap,"  or  in  pro- 
ceeding at  once  to  state  our  generalization  as  a  working 
hypothesis.  Of  course  it  is  easy  to  see  that  if  we  have 
a  wrong  generalization,  if  our  major  premise  is  invalid, 
all  that  follows  in  our  chain  of  reasoning  will  be  worth- 
less. This  fact  should  render  us  careful  in  nuiking  gen- 
eralizations on  too  narrow  a  basis  of  induction.  We 
may  have  observed  that  certain  red-liaired  people  of  our 


THINKING  199 

acquaintance  are  quick-tempered,  but  we  are  not  justi- 
fied from  this  in  making  the  general  statement  that  all 
red-haired  people  are  quick-tempered.  Not  only  have 
we  not  examined  a  sufficient  number  of  cases  to  warrant 
such  a  conclusion,  but  we  have  found  in  the  red  hair  not 
even  a  cause  of  quick  temper,  but  only  an  occasional 
concomitant. 

The  Interrelation  of  Induction  and  Deduction. — Induc- 
tion and  deduction  must  go  hand  in  hand  in  building 
up  our  world  of  knowledge.  Induction  gives  us  the  par- 
ticular facts  out  of  which  our  system  of  knowledge  is 
built,  furnishes  us  with  the  data  out  of  which  general 
truths  are  formed ;  deduction  allows  us  to  start  with  the 
generalization  furnished  us  by  induction,  and  from  this 
vantage  ground  to  organize  and  systematize  our  knowl- 
edge and,  through  the  discovery  of  its  relations,  to  unify 
it  and  make  it  usable.  Deduction  starts  with  a  general 
truth  and  asks  the  question,  "What  new  relations  are 
made  necessary  among  particular  facts  by  this  truth?" 
Induction  starts  with  particulars,  and  asks  the  ques- 
tion, "To  what  general  truth  do  these  separate  facts 
lead  ? ' '  Each  method  of  reasoning  needs  the  other.  De- 
duction must  have  induction  to  furnish  the  facts  for  its 
premises;  induction  must  have  deduction  to  organize 
these  separate  facts  into  a  unified  body  of  knowledge. 
' '  He  only  sees  well  who  sees  the  whole  in  the  parts,  and 
the  parts  in  the  whole." 


7.  PROBLEMS  IN  OBSERVATION  AND  INTROSPECTION 

1.  Watch  your  own  thinking  for  examples  of  each  of  the 
four  types  described.  Observe  a  class  of  children  in  a  recita- 
tion or  at  study  and  try  to  decide  which  type  is  being  em- 
ployed  by  each  child.     What   proportion   of  the   time  sup- 


200  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

posedly  griven  to  study  is  driven  over  to  chance  or  idle  think- 
ing?    To  assimilative  thinking-?     To  deliberative  thinking? 

2.  Observe  children  at  work  in  school  with  the  purpose  of 
determining  whether  they  are  being  taught  to  think,  or  only 
to  memoiize  certain  facts.  Do  you  find  that  definitions  whose 
meaning  is  not  clear  are  often  required  of  children?  Which 
should  come  first,  the  definition  or  the  meaning  and  applica- 
tion of  it  ? 

3.  It  is  of  course  evident  from  the  relation  of  induction 
and  deduction  that  the  child's  natural  mode  of  learning  a  sub- 
ject is  by  induction.  Observe  the  teaching  of  children  to 
determine  whether  inductive  methods  are  commonly  used. 
Outline  an  inductive  lesson  in  arithmetic,  physiology,  geogra- 
phy, civics,  etc. 

4.  What  concepts  have  you  now  which  you  are  aware  are 
very  meager?  What  is  your  concept  of  mountain?  How 
many  have  you  seen?  Have  you  any  concepts  which  you  are 
working  very  hard  to  enrich? 

5.  Recall  some  judgment  which  you  have  made  and  which 
proved  to  be  false,  and  see  whether  you  can  now  discover 
what  was  wrong  with  it.  Do  you  find  the  trouble  to  be  an 
inadequate  concept?  What  constitutes  "good  judgment"? 
"poor  judgment"?  Did  you  ever  make  a  mistake  in  an  ex- 
ample in,  say,  percentage,  by  saying  "This  is  the  base,"  when 
it  proved  not  to  be?     What  was  the  cause  of  the  eiTor? 

6.  Can  you  recall  any  instance  in  which  you  made  too 
hasty  a  generalization  when  you  had  observed  but  few  cases 
upon  which  to  base  your  premise?  What  of  your  reasoning 
which   foHowed? 

7.  See  wild  her  you  can  show  that  validity  of  reasoning 
rests  ultimately  on  correct  perceptions.  What  are  you  doing 
at  present  to  increase  your  i)ower  of  thinking? 

8.  How  (niglit  this  chapter  to  help  one  in  making  a  better 
teacher?     A  better  student? 


CHAPTER   XIII 
INSTINCT 

Nothing  is  more  wonderful  than  nature's  method  of 
endowing  each  individual  at  the  beginning  with  all  the 
impulses,  tendencies  and  capacities  that  are  to  control 
and  determine  the  outcome  of  the  life.  The  acorn  has 
the  perfect  oak  tree  in  its  heart ;  the  complete  butterfly 
exists  in  the  grub;  and  man  at  his  highest  powers  is 
present  in  the  babe  at  birth.  Education  adds  nothing 
to  what  heredity  supplies,  but  only  develops  what  is 
present  from  the  first. 

We  are  a  part  of  a  great  unbroken  procession  of  life, 
which  began  at  the  beginning  and  will  go  on  till  the  end. 
Each  generation  receives,  through  heredity,  the  products 
of  the  long  experience  through  which  the  race  has  passed. 
The  generation  receiving  the  gift  today  lives  its  own 
brief  life,  makes  its  own  little  contribution  to  the  sum 
total  and  then  passes  on  as  millions  have  done  before. 
Through  heredity,  the  achievements,  the  passions,  the 
fears,  and  the  tragedies  of  generations  long  since  mold- 
ered  to  dust  stir  our  blood  and  tone  our  nerves  for  the 
conflict  of  today. 

1.     THE  NATURE  OF  INSTINCT 

Every  child  born  into  the  world  has  resting  upon  him 
an  unseen  hand  reaching  out  from  the  past,  pusliing 
him  out  to  meet  his  environment,  and  guiding  him  in  tiie 

201 


202  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

start  upon  his  journey.  This  impelling  and  guiding 
power  from  the  past  we  call  instinct.  In  the  words  of 
]\Iosso:  "Instinct  is  the  voice  of  past  generations  rever- 
berating like  a  distant  echo  in  the  cells  of  the  nervous 
system.  We  feel  the  breath,  the  advice,  the  experience 
of  all  men,  from  those  who  lived  on  acorns  and  strug- 
gled like  wild  beasts,  dying  naked  in  the  forests,  down 
to  the  virtue  and  toil  of  our  father,  the  fear  and  love 
of  our  mother." 

The  Babe's  Dependence  on  Instinct. — The  child  is  born 
ignorant  and  helpless.  It  has  no  memory,  no  reason,  no 
imagination.  It  has  never  performed  a  conscious  act, 
and  does  not  know  how  to  begin.  It  must  get  started, 
but  how  ?  It  has  no  experience  to  direct  it,  and  is  unable 
to  understand  or  imitate  others  of  its  kind.  It  is  at  this 
point  that  instinct  comes  to  the  rescue.  The  race  has 
not  given  the  child  a  mind  ready  made — that  must  de- 
velop ;  but  it  has  given  him  a  ready-made  nervous  sys- 
tem, ready  to  respond  with  the  proper  movements  when 
it  receives  the  touch  of  its  environment  through  the 
senses. 

And  this  nervous  system  has  been  so  trained  during 
a  limitless  past  that  its  responses  are  the  ones  which  are 
necessary  for  the  welfare  of  its  owner.  It  can  do  a 
hundred  things  without  having  to  wait  to  learn  them. 
Burdette  says  of  the  new-born  child,  "Nobody  told  him 
what  to  do.  Nobody  taught  him.  He  knew.  Placed  sud- 
denly on  the  guest  list  of  this  old  caravansary,  he  knew 
his  way  at  once  to  two  places  in  it — his  bedroom  and  the 
dining-room."  A  thousand  generations  of  babies  had 
df)ne  the  same  thing  in  the  same  way,  and  each  had 
niado  it  a  little  easier  for  this  particular  baby  to  do  his 
part  without  learning  how. 

Definition  of  Instinct. — Instincts  are  the  tendency  to 


INSTINCT  203 

act  in  certain  definite  ways,  without  previous  education 
and  unthout  a  conscious  end  in  view.  They  are  a  tend- 
ency to  act ;  for  some  movement,  or  motor  adjustment, 
is  the  response  to  an  instinct.  They  do  not  require 
previous  education,  for  none  is  possible  with  many 
instinctive  acts:  the  duck  does  not  have  to  be  taught 
to  swim  or  the  baby  to  suck.  They  have  no  conscious 
end  in  view,  though  the  result  may  be  highly  desir- 
able. 

Says  James :  ' '  The  cat  runs  after  the  mouse,  runs  or 
shows  fight  before  the  dog,  avoids  falling  from  walls 
and  trees,  shuns  fire  and  water,  etc.,  not  because  he  has 
any  notion  either  of  life  or  death,  or  of  self,  or  of  pres- 
ervation. He  has  probably  attained  to  no  one  of  these 
conceptions  in  such  a  way  as  to  react  definitely  upon  it. 
He  acts  in  each  case  separately,  and  simply  because  he 
cannot  help  it ;  being  so  framed  that  when  that  particu- 
lar running  thing  called  a  mouse  appears  in  his  field  of 
vision  he  must  pursue ;  that  when  that  particular  bark- 
ing and  obstreperous  thing  called  a  dog  appears  he  must 
retire,  if  at  a  distance,  and  scratch  if  close  by;  that  he 
must  withdraw  his  feet  from  water  and  his  face  from 
flame,  etc.  His  nervous  system  is  to  a  great  extent  a  pre- 
organized  bundle  of  such  reactions.  They  are  as  fatal 
as  sneezing,  and  exactly  correlated  to  their  special  ex- 
citants as  it  to  its  own. ' '  ^ 

You  ask,  Why  does  the  lark  rise  on  the  flash  of  a  sun- 
beam from  his  meadow  to  the  morning  sky,  leaving  a 
trail  of  melody  to  mark  his  flight?  Why  does  the  beaver 
build  his  dam,  and  the  oriole  hang  her  nest?  Why 
are  myriads  of  animal  forms  on  the  earth  today  do- 
ing what  they  were  countless  generations  ago?  Why 
does  the  lover  seek  the  maid,  and  the  mother  cherish 

»" Psychology,"  p.  391. 


204  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

her  young?  Because  the  voice  of  the  past  speaks 
to  the  present,  and  the  present  has  no  choice  but  to 
obey. 

Instincts  Are  Racial  Habits. — Instincts  are  the  habits 
of  the  race  which  it  bequeaths  to  the  individual ;  the  in- 
dividual takes  these  for  his  start,  and  then  modifies  them 
through  education,  and  thus  adapts  himself  to  his  en- 
vironment. Through  his  instincts,  the  individual  is  en- 
abled to  short-cut  racial  experience,  and  begin  at  once 
on  life  activities  which  the  race  has  been  ages  in  ac- 
quiring. Instinct  preserves  to  us  what  the  race  has 
achieved  in  experience,  and  so  starts  us  out  where  the 
race  left  off. 

Unmodified  Instinct  is  Blind. — ]\Iany  of  the  lower  ani- 
mal forms  act  on  instinct  blindly,  unable  to  use  past 
experience  to  guide  their  acts,  incapable  of  education. 
Some  of  them  carry  out  seemingly  marvelous  activities, 
yet  their  acts  are  as  automatic  as  those  of  a  machine  and 
as  devoid  of  foresight.  A  species  of  mud  wasp  carefully 
selects  clay  of  just  the  right  consistency,  finds  a  some- 
what sheltered  nook  under  the  eaves,  and  builds  its  nest, 
leaving  one  open  door.  Then  it  seeks  a  certain  kind  of 
spider,  and  having  stung  it  so  as  to  benumb  without  kill- 
ing, carries  it  into  the  new-made  nest,  lays  its  eggs  on  the 
body  of  the  spider  so  that  the  young  wasps  may  have 
food  immediately  upon  hatching  out,  then  goes  out  and 
plasters  the  door  over  carefully  to  exclude  all  intruders. 
Wonderful  intelligence?  Not  intelligence  at  all.  Its 
acts  were  dictated  not  by  plans  for  the  future,  but  by 
pressure  from  the  past.  Let  the  supply  of  clay  fail,  or 
the  race  of  spiders  become  extinct,  and  the  wasp  is  help- 
less and  its  species  will  perish.  Likewise  the  race  of 
bees  and  ants  have  done  wonderful  things,  but  individual 
bees  and  ants  are  very  stupid  and  helpless  when  con- 


INSTINCT  205 

fronted  by  any  novel  conditions  to  which  their  race  has 
not  been  accustomed. 

Man  starts  in  as  blindly  as  the  lower  animals;  but, 
thanks  to  his  higher  mental  powers,  this  blindness  soon 
gives  way  to  foresight,  and  he  is  able  to  formulate  pur- 
poseful ends  and  adapt  his  activities  to  their  accomplish- 
ment. Possessing  a  larger  number  of  instincts  than  the 
lower  animals  have,  man  finds  possible  a  greater  num- 
ber of  responses  to  a  more  complex  environment  than  do 
they.  This  advantage,  coupled  with  his  ability  to  re- 
construct his  experience  in  such  a  way  that  he  secures 
constantly  increasing  control  over  his  environment,  easily 
makes  man  the  superior  of  all  the  animals,  and  enables 
him  to  exploit  them  for  his  own  further  advancement. 


2.     LAW  OF  THE  APPEAEANCE  AND  DISAPPEAEANCE 

OF  INSTINCTS 

No  child  is  born  with  all  its  instincts  ripe  and  ready 
for  action.  Yet  each  individual  contains  within  his  own 
inner  nature  the  law  which  determines  the  order  and 
time  of  their  development. 

Instincts  Appear  in  Succession  as  Required. — It  is  not 
well  that  we  should  be  started  on  too  many  different 
lines  of  activity  at  once,  hence  our  instincts  do  not  all 
appear  at  the  same  time.  Only  as  fast  as  we  need  addi- 
tional activities  do  they  ripen.  Our  very  earliest  activi- 
ties are  concerned  chiefly  with  feeding,  hence  we  first 
have  the  instincts  which  prompt  us  to  take  our  food  and 
to  cry  for  it  when  we  are  hungry.  Also  we  find  useful 
such  abbreviated  instincts,  called  reflexes,  as  sneezing, 
snuffling,  gagging,  vomiting,  starting,  etc.;  hence  we 
have  the  instincts  enabling  us  to  do  these  things.  Soon 
comes  the  time  for  teething,  and,  to  help  the  matter 


206  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

along,  the  instinct  of  biting  enters,  and  the  rubber  ring 
is  in  demand.  The  time  approaches  when  we  are  to  feed 
ourselves,  so  the  instinct  arises  to  carry  everything  to 
the  mouth.  Now  we  have  grown  strong  and  must  as- 
sume an  erect  attitude,  hence  the  instinct  to  sit  up  and 
then  to  stand.  Locomotion  comes  next,  and  with  it  the 
instinct  to  creep  and  walk.  Also  a  language  must  be 
learned,  and  we  must  take  part  in  the  busy  life 
about  us  and  do  as  other  people  do;  so  the  instinct 
to  imitate  arises  that  we  may  learn  things  quickly  and 
easily. 

AVe  need  a  spur  to  keep  us  up  to  our  best  effort,  so 
the  instinct  of  emulation  emerges.  We  must  defend 
ourselves,  so  the  instinct  of  pugnacity  is  born.  We  need 
to  be  cautious,  hence  the  instinct  of  fear.  We  need  to 
be  investigative,  hence  the  instinct  of  curiosity.  Much 
self-directed  activity  is  necessary  for  our  development, 
hence  the  play  instinct.  It  is  best  that  we  should  come 
to  know  and  serve  others,  so  the  instincts  of  sociability 
and  sympathy  arise.  We  need  to  select  a  mate  and  care 
for  offspring,  hence  the  instinct  of  love  for  the  other  sex, 
and  the  parental  instinct.  This  is  far  from  a  complete 
list  of  our  instincts,  and  I  have  not  tried  to  follow  the 
order  of  their  development,  but  I  have  given  enough  to 
show  the  origin  of  many  of  our  life 's  most  important  ac- 
tivities. 

Many  Instincts  Are  Transitory. — Not  only  do  instincts 
ripen  by  degrees,  entering  our  experience  one  by  one 
as  they  are  needed,  but  they  drop  out  when  their  work 
is  done.  Some,  like  the  instinct  of  self-preservation,  are 
needed  our  lifetime  through,  hence  they  remain  to  the 
end.  Others,  like  the  play  instinct,  serve  their  purpose 
and  disappear  or  are  modified  into  new  forms  in  a  few 
years,  or  a  few  months.     The  life  of  the  instinct  is 


INSTINCT  207 

always  as  transitory  as  is  the  necessity  for  the  activity 
to  which  it  gives  rise.  No  instinct  remains  wholly  un- 
altered in  man,  for  it  is  constantly  being  made  over  in 
the  light  of  each  new  experience.  The  instinct  of  self- 
preservation  is  modified  by  knowledge  and  experience, 
so  that  the  defense  of  the  man  against  threatened  danger 
would  be  very  different  from  that  of  the  child ;  yet  the 
instinct  to  protect  oneself  in  some  way  remains.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  instinct  to  romp  and  play  is  less  per- 
manent. It  may  last  into  adult  life,  but  few  middle-a^ed 
or  old  people  care  to  race  about  as  do  children.  Their 
activities  are  occupied  in  other  lines,  and  they  require 
less  physical  exertion. 

Contrast  with  these  two  examples  such  instincts  as 
sucking,  creeping,  and  crying,  which  are  much  more 
fleeting  than  the  play  instinct,  even.  With  dentition 
comes  another  mode  of  eating,  and  sucking  is  no  more 
serviceable.  Walking  is  a  better  mode  of  locomotion 
than  creeping,  so  the  instinct  to  creep  soon  dies.  Speech 
is  found  a  better  way  than  crying  to  attract  attention  to 
distress,  so  this  instinct  drops  out.  Many  of  our  in- 
stincts not  only  would  fail  to  be  serviceable  in  our  later 
lives,  but  would  be  positively  in  the  way.  Each  serves 
its  day,  and  then  passes  over  into  so  modified  a  form  as 
not  to  be  recognized,  or  else  drops  out  of  sight  alto- 
gether. 

Seemingly  Useless  Instincts. — Indeed  it  is  difficult  to 
see  that  some  instincts  serve  a  useful  purpose  at  any 
time.  The  pugnacity  and  greediness  of  childhood,  its 
foolish  fears,  the  bashfulness  of  youth— these  seem  to  be 
either  useless  or  detrimental  to  development.  In  order 
to  understand  the  workings  of  instinct,  however,  we  must 
remember  that  it  looks  in  two  directions ;  into  the  future 
for  its  application,  and  into  the  past  for  its  explanation. 


208  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

We  should  not  be  surprised  if  the  experiences  of  a  long 
past  have  left  behind  some  tendencies  which  are  not 
very  useful  under  the  vastly  different  conditions  of 
today. 

Nor  should  we  be  too  sure  that  an  activity  whose 
precise  function  in  relation  to  development  we  cannot 
discover  has  no  use  at  all.  Each  instinct  must  be  con- 
sidered not  alone  in  the  light  of  what  it  means  to  its 
possessor  today,  but  of  what  it  means  to  all  his  future 
development.  The  tail  of  a  polliwog  seems  a  very  use- 
less appendage  so  far  as  the  adult  frog  is  concerned, 
yet  if  the  polliwog 's  tail  is  cut  off  a  perfect  frog  never 
develops. 

Instincts  to  Be  Utilized  When  They  Appear. — A  man 
may  set  the  stream  to  turning  his  mill  wheels  today  or 
wait  for  twenty  years — the  power  is  there  ready  for 
him  when  he  wants  it.  Instincts  must  be  utilized  when 
they  present  themselves,  else  they  disappear — never,  in 
most  cases,  to  return.'  Birds  kept  caged  past  the  flying 
time  never  learn  to  fly  well.  The  hunter  must  train 
his  setter  when  the  time  is  ripe,  or  the  dog  can  never 
be  depended  upon.  Ducks  kept  away  from  the  water 
until  full  grown  have  almost  as  little  inclination  for  it  as 
chickens. 

The  child  whom  the  pressure  of  circumstances  or  un- 
wise authority  of  parents  keeps  from  mingling  with 
playmates  and  participating  in  their  plays  and  games 
when  the  social  instinct  is  strong  upon  him,  will  in 
later  life  find  himself  a  hopeless  recluse  to  whom  social 
duties  are  a  bore.  The  boy  who  does  not  hunt  and  fish 
and  rac^o  and  climb  at  the  proper  time  for  these  things, 
will  find  liis  taste  for  them  fade  away,  and  he  will  become 
wedded  1o  a  sedentary  life.  The  youth  and  maiden  must 
be  permitted  to  "dress  up"  when  the  impulse  comes  to 


INSTINCT  209 

them,  or  they  are  likely  ever  after  to  be  careless  in 
their  attire. 

Instincts  as  Starting  Points. — JMost  of  our  habits  have 
their  rise  in  instincts,  and  all  desirable  instincts  should 
be  seized  upon  and  transformed  into  habits  before  they 
fade  away.  Says  James  in  his  remarkable  chapter  on 
Instinct:  "In  all  pedagogy  the  great  thing  is  to  strike 
while  the  iron  is  hot,  and  to  seize  the  wave  of  the  pupils' 
interest  in  each  successive  subject  before  its  ebb  has 
come,  so  that  knowledge  may  be  got  and  a  habit  of  skill 
acquired — a  headway  of  interest,  in  short,  secured,  on 
which  afterwards  the  individual  may  float.  There  is  a 
happy  moment  for  fixing  skill  in  drawing,  for  making 
boys  collectors  in  natural  history,  and  presently  dis- 
sectors and  botanists ;  then  for  initiating  them  into  the 
harmonies  of  mechanics  and  the  wonders  of  physical  and 
chemical  law.  Later,  introspective  psychology  and  the 
metaphysical  and  religious  mysteries  take  their  turn; 
and,  last  of  all,  the  drama  of  human  affairs  and  worldly 
wisdom  in  the  widest  sense  of  the  term.  In  each  of  us 
a  saturation  point  is  soon  reached  in  pH  these  things;  the 
impetus  of  our  purely  intellectual  zt«^'  xpires,  and  un- 
less the  topic  is  associated  with  som'  >G:pnt  personal 
need  that  keeps  our  wits  constantly  wl  I  about  it,  we 
settle  into  an  equilibrium,  and  live  oi  ..  at  we  learned 
when  our  interest  was  fresh  and  instinctive,  without 
adding  to  the  store." 


't5 


There  is  a  tide  in  the  affairs  of  men 
Which,  taken  at  the  flood,  leads  on  to  fortune; 
Omitted,  all  the  voyage  of  their  life 
Is  bound  in  shallows  and  in  miseries. 

The  More  Important  Human  Instincts. — It  will  be  im- 
possible in  this  brief  statement  to  give  a  complete  cata- 


210  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

lo^e  of  the  human  instincts,  much  less  to  discuss  each 
in  detail.  We  must  content  ourselves  therefore  with 
naming  the  more  important  instincts,  and  finally  discuss- 
ing a  few  of  them:  Sucking,  'biting,  cheiving,  clasping 
objects  with  the  fingers,  carrying  to  the  mouth,  crying, 
smiling,  sitting  up,  standing,  locomotion,  vocalization, 
imitation,  emulation,  pugnacity,  resentment,  anger,  sym- 
pathy, limiting  and  fighting,  fear,  acquisitiveness,  play, 
curios-it y,  sociability,  modesty,  secretiveness,  shame,  love, 
and  jealousy  may  be  said  to  head  the  list  of  our  instincts. 
It  will  be  impossible  in  our  brief  space  to  discuss  all  of 
this  list.  Only  a  few  of  the  more  important  will  be 
noticed. 

3.     THE  INSTINCT  OF  IMITATION 

No  individual  enters  the  world  with  a  large  enough 
stock  of  instincts  to  start  him  doing  all  the  things  neces- 
sary for  his  welfare.  Instinct  prompts  hira  to  eat  when 
he  is  hungry,  but  does  not  tell  him  to  use  a"  knife  and 
fork  and  spoon ;  it  pa-ompts  him  to  use  vocal  speech,  but 
does  not  say  whether  he  shall  use  English,  French,  or 
German;  it  prr  '«-3  him  to  be  social  in  his  nature,  but 
does  not  spe-  that  he  shall  say  please  and  thank 
you.  and  taW  lis  hat  to  ladies.  The  race  did  not  find 
the  specific  m  a,  in  which  these  and  many  other  things 
are  to  be  done  of  sufficient  importance  to  crystallize 
them  in  instincts,  hence  the  individual  must  learn  them 
as  he  needs  them.  The  simplest  way  of  accomplishing 
this  is  for  each  generation  to  copy  the  ways  of  doing 
things  which  are  followed  by  the  older  generation  among 
whom  they  are  born.  This  is  done  largely  through 
imitation. 

Nature  of  Imitation. — Imitation  is  the  instinct  to  re- 
spond to  a  suggestion  from  another  by  repeating  his  CLct. 


INSTINCT  211 

The  instinct  of  imitation  is  active  in  the  year-old  child, 
it  requires  another  year  or  two  to  reach  its  height,  then 
it  gradually  grows  less  marked,  but  continues  in  some 
degree  throughout  life.  The  young  child  is  practically 
helpless  in  the  matter  of  imitation.  Instinct  demands 
that  he  shall  imitate,  and  he  has  no  choice  but  to  obey. 
His  environment  furnishes  the  models  which  he  must 
imitate,  whether  they  are  good  or  bad.  Before  he  is  old 
enough  for  intelligent  choice,  he  has  imitated  a  multi- 
tude of  acts  about  him ;  and  habit  has  seized  upon  these 
acts  and  is  weaving  them  into  conduct  and  character. 
Older  grown  we  may  choose  what  we  will  imitate,  but 
in  our  earlier  years  we  are  at  the  mercy  of  the  models 
which  are  placed  before  us. 

If  our  mother  tongue  is  the  first  we  hear  spoken,  that 
will  be  our  language ;  but  if  we  first  hear  Chinese,  we 
will  learn  that  with  almost  equal  facility.  If  whatever 
speech  we  hear  is  well  spoken,  correct,  and  beautiful,  so 
will  our  language  be ;  if  it  is  vulgar,  or  incorrect,  or 
slangy,  our  speech  will  be  of  this  kind.  If  the  first 
manners  which  serve  us  as  models  are  coarse  and  boorish, 
ours  will  resemble  them;  if  they  are  cultivated  and  re- 
fined, ours  will  be  like  them.  If  our  models  of  conduct 
and  morals  are  questionable,  our  conduct  and  morals 
will  be  of  like  type.  Our  manner  of  walking,  of  dressing, 
of  thinking,  of  saying  our  prayers,  even,  originates  in 
imitation.  By  imitation  we  adopt  ready-made  our  social 
standards,  our  political  faith,  and  our  religious  creeds. 
Our  views  of  life  and  the  values  we  set  on  its  attain- 
ments are  largely  a  matter  of  imitation. 

Individuality  in  Imitation. — Yet,  given  the  same  model, 
no  two  of  us  will  imitate  precisely  alike.  Your  acts  will 
be  yours,  and  mine  will  be  mine.  This  is  because  no  two 
of  us  have  just  the  same  heredity,  and  hence  cannot  have 


212  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

precisely  similar  instincts.  There  reside  in  our  dif- 
ferent personalities  different  powers  of  invention  and 
originality,  and  these  determine  by  how  much  the  prod- 
uct of  imitation  will  vary  from  the  model.  Some  re- 
main imitators  all  their  lives,  while  others  use  imitation 
as  a  means  to  the  invention  of  better  types  than  the 
original  models.  The  person  who  is  an  imitator  only, 
lacks  individuality  and  initiative ;  the  nation  which  is 
an  imitator  only  is  stagnant  and  unprogressive.  While 
imitation  must  be  blind  in  both  cases  at  first,  it  should 
be  increasingly  intelligent  as  the  individual  or  the  nation 
progresses. 

Conscious  and  ITnconscious  Imitation. — The  much- 
quoted  dictum  that  "all  consciousness  is  motor"  has  a 
direct  application  to  imitation.  It  only  means  that  we 
have  a  tendency  to  act  an  whatever  idea  occupies  the 
mind.  Think  of  yawning  or  clearing  the  throat,  and 
the  tendency  is  strong  to  do  these  things.  We  naturally 
respond  to  smile  with  smile  and  to  frown  with  frown. 
And  even  the  impressions  coming  to  us  from  our  mate- 
rial environment  have  their  influence  on  our  acts.  Our 
response  to  these  ideas  may  be  a  conscious  one,  as  when 
a  boy  purposely  stutters  in  order  to  mimic  an  unfor- 
tunate companion ;  or  it  may  be  unconscious,  as  when  the 
boy  unknowingly  falls  into  the  habit  of  stammering  from 
hearing  this  kind  of  speech.  The  child  may  consciously 
seek  to  keep  himself  neat  and  clean  so  as  to  harmonize 
with  a  pleasant  and  well-kept  home,  or  he  may  uncon- 
sciously become  slovenly  and  cross-tempered  from  living 
in  an  ill-kept  linmc  where  constant  bickering  is  the  rule. 

Often  we  deliberately  imitate  what  seems  to  us  desir- 
aljl(!  in  otlier  people,  but  probably  far  the  greater  pro- 
portion of  the  suggestions  to  wliich  we  respond  are 
received  and  acted  upon  unconsciously.     In  conscious 


INSTINCT  213 

imitation  we  can  select  what  models  we  shall  imitate,  and 
therefore  protect  ourselves  in  so  far  as  our  judgment  of 
good  and  bad  models  is  valid.  In  unconscious  imita- 
tion, however,  we  are  constantly  responding  to  a  stream 
of  suggestions  pouring  in  upon  us  hour  after  hour  and 
day  after  day,  with  no  protection  but  the  leadings  of 
our  interests  as  they  direct  our  attention  now  to  this 
phase  of  our  environment,  and  now  to  that. 

Influence  of  Environment. — No  small  part  of  the  influ- 
ences which  mold  our  lives  comes  from  our  material 
environment.  Good  clothes,  artistic  homes,  beautiful 
pictures  and  decoration,  attractive  parks  and  lawns,  well- 
kept  streets,  well-bound  books — all  these  have  a  direct 
moral  and  educative  value;  on  the  other  hand,  squalor, 
disorder,  and  ugliness  are  an  incentive  to  ignorance  and 
crime. 

Hawthorne  tells  in  "The  Great  Stone  Face"  of  the 
boy  Ernest,  listening  to  the  tradition  of  a  coming  Wise 
]\Ian  who  one  day  is  to  rule  over  the  Valley.  The  story 
sinks  deep  into  the  boy's  heart,  and  he  thinks  and 
dreams  of  the  great  and  good  man ;  and  as  he  thinks  and 
dreams,  he  spends  his  boyhood  days  gazing  across  the 
valley  at  a  distant  mountain  side  whose  rocks  and  cliffs 
nature  had  formed  into  the  outlines  of  a  human  face  re- 
markable for  the  nobleness  and  benignity  of  its  e.Kpres- 
sion.  He  comes  to  love  this  Face  and  looks  upon  it  as 
the  prototype  of  the  coming  Wise  Man,  until  lo !  as  he 
dwells  upon  it  and  dreams  about  it,  the  beautiful  char- 
acter which  its  expression  typifies  grows  into  his  own 
life,  and  he  himself  becomes  the  long-looked-for  Wise 
Man. 

The  Influence  of  Personality. — I\Iore  powerful  than  the 
influence  of  material  environment,  however,  is  that  of 
other  personalities  upon  us— the  touch  of  life  upon  life. 


214  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

A  living  personality  contains  a  power  which  grips  hold 
of  us,  electrifies  us,  inspires  us,  and  compels  us  to  new 
endeavor,  or  else  degrades  and  debases  us.  None  has 
failed  to  feel  at  some  time  this  life-touch,  and  to  bless 
or  curse  the  day  when  its  influence  came  upon  him. 
Either  consciously  or  unconsciously  such  a  personality 
becomes  our  ideal  and  model;  we  idolize  it,  idealize  it, 
and  imitate  it,  until  it  becomes  a  part  of  us.  Not  only 
do  we  find  these  great  personalities  living  in  the  flesh, 
but  we  find  them  also  in  books,  from  whose  pages  they 
speak  to  us,  and  to  whose  influence  we  respond. 

And  not  in  the  great  personalities  alone  does  the  power 
to  influence  reside.  From  every  life  which  touches  ours, 
a  stream  of  influence  great  or  small  is  entering  our  life 
and  helping  to  mold  it.  Nor  are  we  to  forget  that  this 
influence  is  reciprocal,  and  that  we  are  reacting  upon 
others  up  to  the  measure  of  the  powers  that  are  in  us. 

4.    THE     INSTINCT  OF  PLAY 

Small  use  to  be  a  child  unless  one  can  play.  Saj'^s 
Karl  Groos:  ''Perhaps  the  very  existence  of  youth  is 
due  in  part  to  the  necessity  for  play ;  the  animal  does 
not  play  because  he  is  young,  but  he  is  young  because 
he  must  play."  Play  is  a  constant  factor  in  all  grades 
of  animal  life.  The  swarming  insects,  the  playful  kit- 
ten, the  frisking  lambs,  the  racing  colt,  the  darting  swal- 
lows, the  maddening  aggregation  of  blackbirds — these 
are  but  illustrations  of  the  common  impulse  of  all  the 
animal  world  to  play.  Wherever  freedom  and  happi- 
ness reside,  there  play  is  found ;  wherever  play  is  lack- 
ing, there  the  curse  has  fallen  and  sadness  and  oppres- 
sion reign.  Play  is  the  natural  role  in  the  paradise  of 
youth;  it  is  cliildliood's  chief  occupation.     To  toil  with- 


INSTINCT  215 

out  play,   places  man   on   a  level  with  the  beasts  of 
burden. 

The  Necessity  for  Play. — But  why  is  play  so  necessary  ? 
Why  is  this  impulse  so  deep-rooted  in  our  natures? 
Why  not  compel  our  young  to  expend  their  boundless 
energy  on  productive  labor ?  Why  all  this  waste?  Why 
have  our  child  labor  laws  ?  Why  not  shut  recesses  from 
our  schools,  and  so  save  time  for  work?  Is  it  true  that 
all  work  and  no  play  makes  Jack  a  dull  boy  ?  Too  true. 
For  proof  we  need  but  gaze  at  the  dull  and  lifeless  faces 
of  the  prematurely  old  children  as  they  pour  out  of  the 
factories  where  child  labor  is  employed.  We  need  but 
follow  the  children,  who  have  had  a  playless  childhood, 
into  a  narrow  and  barren  manhood.  We  need  but  to 
trace  back  the  history  of  the  dull  and  brutish  men  of 
today,  and  find  that  they  were  the  playless  children  of 
yesterday.  Play  is  as  necessary  to  the  child  as  food, 
as  vital  as  sunshine,  as  indispensable  as  air. 

The  keynote  of  play  is  freedom,  freedom  of  physical 
activity,  and  mental  initiative.  In  play  the  child  makes 
his  own  plans,  his  imagination  has  free  rein,  originality 
is  in  demand,  and  constructive  ability  is  placed  under 
tribute.  Here  are  developed  a  thousand  tendencies 
which  would  never  find  expression  in  the  narrow  tread- 
mill of  labor  alone.  The  child  needs  to  learn  to  woyk; 
but  along  with  his  work  must  be  the  opportunity  for 
free  and  unrestricted  activity,  which  can  come  only 
through  play.  The  boy  needs  a  chance  to  be  a  barbarian, 
a  hero,  an  Indian.  He  needs  to  ride  his  broomstick 
on  a  dangerous  raid,  and  to  charge  with  lath  sword  the  re- 
doubts of  a  stubborn  enemy.  He  needs  to  be  a  leader 
as  well  as  a  follower.  In  short,  without  in  the  least  be- 
ing aware  of  it,  he  needs  to  develop  himself  through  his 
own  activity— he  needs  freedom  to  play.     If  the  child 


216  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

be  a  girl,  there  is  no  difference  except  in  the  character 
of  the  activities  employed. 

Play  in  Development  and  Education. — And  it  is  pre- 
cisely out  of  these  play  activities  that  the  later  and  more 
serious  activities  of  life  emerge.  Play  is  the  gateway 
by  which  we  best  enter  the  various  fields  of  the  world's 
work,  whether  our  particular  sphere  be  that  of  pupil  or 
teacher  in  the  schoolroom,  of  man  in  the  busy  marts  of 
trade  or  in  the  professions,  or  of  farmer  or  mechanic. 
Play  brings  the  wlioJe  self  into  the  activity;  it  trains  to 
habits  of  independence  and  individual  initiative,  to 
strenuous  and  sustained  effort,  to  endurance  of  hardship 
and  fatigue,  to  social  participation  and  the  acceptance 
of  victory  and  defeat.  And  these  are  the  qualities 
needed  by  the  man  of  success  in  his  vocation. 

These  facts  make  the  play  instinct  one  of  the  most 
important  in  education.  Froebel  was  the  first  to  recog- 
nize the  importance  of  play,  and  the  kindergarten  was 
an  attempt  to  utilize  its  activities  in  the  school.  The  in- 
troduction of  this  new  factor  into  education  has  been 
attended,  as  might  be  expected,  by  many  mistakes.  Some 
have  thought  to  recast  the  entire  process  of  education 
into  the  form  of  games  and  plays,  and  thus  to  lead  the 
child  to  possess  the  "Promised  Land"  through  aimlessly 
chasing  butterflies  in  the  pleasant  fields  of  knowledge. 
It  is  needless  to  say  that  they  have  not  succeeded.  Oth- 
ers have  mistaken  the  shadow  for  the  substance,  and 
introduced  games  and  plays  into  the  schoolroom  which 
lack  tile  very  first  element  of  play ;  namely,  freedom  of 
initiative  and  action  on  the  part  of  the  child.  Educa- 
tional theorists  and  teachers  have  invented  games  and 
occupations  and  taught  them  to  the  children,  who  go 
through  with  them  much  as  they  would  with  any  other 
task,  enjoying  the  activity  but  missing  the  development 


INSTINCT  217 

which  would  come  through  a  larger  measure  of  self- 
direction. 

Work  and  Play  Are  Complements. — Work  cannot  take 
the  place  of  play,  neither  can  play  be  substituted  for 
work.  Nor  are  the  two  antagonistic,  but  each  is  the 
complement  of  the  other ;  for  the  activities  of  work  grow 
immediately  out  of  those  of  play,  and  each  lends  zest  to 
the  other.  Those  who  have  never  learned  to  work  and 
those  who  have  never  learned  to  play  are  equally  lacking 
in  their  development.  Further,  it  is  not  the  name  or 
character  of  an  activity  which  determines  whether  it  is 
play  for  the  participant,  but  his  attitude  toward  the 
activity.  If  the  activity  is  performed  for  its  own  sake 
and  not  for  some  ulterior  end,  if  it  grows  out  of  the  in- 
terest of  the  child  and  involves  the  free  and  independent 
use  of  his  powers  of  body  and  mind,  if  it  is  Jiis,  and  not 
someone's  else — then  the  activity  possesses  the  chief 
characteristics  of  play.  Lacking  these,  it  cannot  be  play, 
whatever  else  it  may  be. 

Play,  like  other  instincts,  besides  serving  the  present, 
looks  in  two  directions,  into  the  past  and  into  the  future. 
From  the  past  come  the  shadowy  interests  which,  taking 
form  from  the  touch  of  our  environment,  determine  the 
character  of  the  play  activities.  From  the  future  come 
the  premonitions  of  the  activities  that  are  to  be.  Tlie  boy 
adjusting  himself  to  the  requirements  of  the  game,  seek- 
ing control  over  his  companions  or  giving  in  to  them,  is 
practicing  in  miniature  the  larger  game  which  he  will 
play  in  business  or  profession  a  little  later.  The  girl  in 
her  playhouse,  surrounded  by  a  nondescript  family  of 
dolls  and  pets,  is  unconsciously  looking  forward  to  a 
more  perfect  life  when  the  responsibilities  shall  be  a  lit- 
tle more  real.  So  let  us  not  grudge  our  children  the 
play  day  of  youth. 


218  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

5.     OTHER  USEFUL  INSTINCTS 

Many  other  instincts  ripen  during  the  stage  of  youth 
and  play  their  part  in  the  development  of  the  individual. 

Curiosity. — It  is  inherent  in  every  normal  person  to 
want  to  investigate  and  know.  The  child  looks  out  with 
wonder  and  fascination  on  a  world  he  does  not  under- 
stand, and  at  once  begins  to  ask  questions  and  try  experi- 
ments. Every  new  object  is  approached  in  a  spirit  of  in- 
quiry. Interest  is  omnivorous,  feeding  upon  every  phase 
of  environment.  Nothing  is  too  simple  or  too  complex 
to  demand  attention  and  exploration,  so  that  it  vitally 
touches  the  child's  activities  and  experience. 

The  momentum  given  the  individual  by  curiosity  to- 
ward learning  and  mastering  his  world  is  incalculable. 
Imagine  the  impossible  task  of  teaching  children  what 
they  had  no  desire  or  inclination  to  know!  Think  of 
trying  to  lead  them  to  investigate  matters  concerning 
which  they  felt  only  a  supreme  indifference !  Indeed 
one  of  the  greatest  problems  of  education  is  to  keep  curi- 
osity alive  and  fresh  so  that  its  compelling  influence 
may  promote  effort  and  action.  One  of  the  greatest 
secrets  of  eternal  youth  is  also  found  in  retaining  the 
spontaneous  curiosity  of  youth  after  the  youthful  years 
are  past. 

Manipulation.— This  is  the  rather  unsatisfactory  name 
for  the  universal  tendency  to  handle,  do  or  ntake 
something.  The  young  child  builds  with  its  blocks,  con- 
structs fences  and  pens  and  caves  and  houses,  •  and  a 
score  of  other  objects.  The  older  child,  supplied  with 
implements  and  tools,  enters  upon  more  ambitious  proj- 
ects and  revels  in  the  joy  of  creation  as  he  makes  boats 
and  boxes,  soldiers  and  swords,  kites,  play-houses  and 
what-not.     Even  as  adults  we  are  moved  by  a  desire  to 


INSTINCT  219 

express  ourselves  through  making  or  creating  that  which 
will  represent  our  ingenuity  and  skill.  The  tendency 
of  children  to  destroy  is  not  from  wantonness,  but  rather 
from  a  desire  to  manipulate. 

Education  has  but  recently  begun  to  make  serious  use 
of  this  important  impulse.  The  success  of  all  laboratory 
methods  of  teaching,  and  of  such  subjects  as  manual 
training  and  domestic  science,  is  abundant  proof  of  the 
adage  that  we  learn  by  doing.  We  would  rather  con- 
struct or  manipulate  an  object  than  merely  learn  its 
verbal  description.  Our  deepest  impulses  lead  to  crea- 
tion rather  than  simple  mental  appropriation  of  facts 
and  descriptions. 

The  Collecting  Instinct. — The  words  my  and  mine 
enter  the  child's  vocabulary  at  a  very  early  age.  The 
sense  of  property  ownership  and  the  impulse  to  make 
collections  of  various  kinds  go  hand  in  hand.  Probably 
there  are  few  of  us  who  have  not  at  one  time  or  another 
made  collections  of  autographs,  postage  stamps,  coins, 
bugs,  or  some  other  thing  of  as  little  intrinsic  value. 
And  most  of  us,  if  we  have  left  youth  behind,  are  busy 
even  now  in  seeking  to  collect  fortunes,  works  of  art,  rare 
volumes  or  other  objects  on  which  we  have  set  our  hearts. 

The  collecting  instinct  and  the  impulse  to  ownership 
can  be  made  important  agents  in  the  school.  The  child 
who,  in  nature  study,  geography  or  agriculture,  is  mak- 
ing a  collection  of  the  leaves,  plants,  soils,  fruits,  or  in- 
sects used  in  the  lessons  has  an  incentive  to  observation 
and  investigation  impossible  from  book  instruction  alone. 
One  who,  in  manual  training  or  domestic  science,  is  al- 
lowed to  own  the  article  made  will  give  more  effort  and 
skill  to  its  construction  than  if  the  work  be  done  as  a 
mere  school  task. 

The  Dramatic  Instinct. — Every  person  is,  at  one  stage 


220  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

of  his  development,  something  of  an  actor.  All  children 
like  to  "dress  up"  and  impersonate  someone  else — 
in  proof  of  which,  witness  the  many  play  scenes  in  which 
the  character  of  nurse,  doctor,  pirate,  teacher,  merchant 
or  explorer  is  taken  by  children  who,  under  the  stimu- 
lus of  their  spontaneous  imagery  and  as  yet  untrammeled 
by  self-consciousness,  freely  enter  into  the  character  they 
portray.  The  dramatic  impulse  never  wholly  dies  out. 
When  we  no  longer  aspire  to  do  the  acting  ourselves  we 
have  others  do  it  for  us  in  the  theaters  or  the  movies. 

Education  finds  in  the  dramatic  instinct  a  valuable 
aid.  Progressive  teachers  are  using  it  freely,  especially 
in  the  teaching  of  literature  and  history.  Its  application 
to  these  fields  may  be  greatly  increased,  and  also  ex- 
tended more  generally  to  include  religion,  morals,  and 
art. 

The  Impulse  to  Form  Gangs  and  Clubs. — Few  boys  and 
girls  grow  up  without  belonging  at  some  time  to  a  secret 
gang,  club  or  society.  Usually  this  impulse  grows  out 
of  two  different  instincts,  the  social  and  the  adventurous. 
It  is  fundamental  in  our  natures  to  wish  to  be  with  our 
kind — not  only  our  human  kind,  but  those  of  the  same 
age,  interests  and  ambitions.  The  love  of  secrecy  and 
adventure  is  also  deep  seated  in  us.  So  we  are  clannish ; 
and  we  love  to  do  the  unusual,  to  break  away  from  the 
common f)lace  and  routine  of  our  lives.  There  is  often 
a  thrill  of  satisfaction — even  if  it  be  later  followed  by 
remorse — in  doing  the  forbidden  or  the  unconven- 
tional. 

The  problem  here  as  in  the  case  of  many  other  in- 
stincts is  one  of  guidance  rather  than  of  repression.  Out 
of  the  gang  impulse  we  may  develop  our  athletic  teams, 
our  debating  and  dramatic  clubs,  our  tramping  clubs, 
and  a  score  of  other  recreational,  benevolent,  or  social 


INSTINCT  221 

organizations.     Not   repression,   but  proper  expression 
should  be  our  ideal. 

6.     FEAE 

Probably  in  no  instinct  more  than  in  that  of  fear  can 
we  find  the  reflections  of  all  the  past  ages  of  life  in  the 
world  with  its  manifold  changes,  its  dangers,  its  trage- 
dies, its  sufferings,  and  its  deaths. 

Fear  Heredity. — The  fears  of  childhood  "are  remem- 
bered at  every  step,"  and  so  are  the  fears  through  which 
the  race  has  passed.  Says  Chamberlain:  "Every  ugly 
thing  told  to  the  child,  every  shock,  every  fright  given 
him,  will  remain  like  splinters  in  the  flesh,  to  torture  him 
all  his  life  long.  The  bravest  old  soldier,  the  most  dar- 
ing young  reprobate,  is  incapable  of  forgetting  them  all 
— ^the  masks,  the  bogies,  ogres,  hobgoblins,  witches,  and 
wizards,  the  things  that  bite  and  scratch,  that  nip  and 
tear,  that  pinch  and  crunch,  the  thousand  and  one  im- 
aginary^ monsters  of  the  mother,  the  nurse,  or  the  serv- 
ant, hav^-had  their  effect;  and  hundreds  of  generations 
have  worked  to  denaturalize  the  brains  of  children. 
Perhaps  no  animal,  not  even  those  most  susceptible  to 
fright,  has  behind  it  the  fear  heredity  of  the  child. ' ' 

President  Hall  calls  attention  to  the  fact  that  night 
is  now  the  safest  time  of  the  twenty-four  hours;  ser- 
pents are  no  longer  our  most  deadly  enemies;  strangers 
are  not  to  be  feared ;  neither  are  big  eyes  or  teeth ;  there 
is  no  adequate  reason  why  the  wind,  or  thunder,  or  light- 
ning should  make  children  frantic  as  the}^  do.  But  ' '  the 
past  of  man  forever  seems  to  linger  in  his  present"; 
and  the  child,  in  being  afraid  of  these  things,  is  only 
summing  up  the  fear  experiences  of  the  race  and  suffer- 
ing all  too  many  of  them  in  his  short  childhood. 

Fear  of  the  Dark. — ]\Iost  children  are  afraid  in  the 


222  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

dark.  Who  does  not  remember  the  terror  of  a  dark  room 
through  which  he  had  to  pass,  or,  worse  still,  in  which 
he  had  to  go  to  bed  alone,  and  there  lie  in  cold  perspira- 
tion induced  by  a  mortal  agony  of  fright !  The  unused 
doors  which  would  not  lock,  and  through  which  he  ex- 
pected to  see  the  goblin  come  forth  to  get  him!  The 
dark  shadows  back  under  the  bed  where  he  was  afraid 
to  look  for  the  hidden  monster  which  he  was  sure  was 
hiding  there  and  yet  dare  not  face!  The  lonely  lane 
through  which  the  cows  were  to  be  driven  late  at  night, 
while  every  fence  corner  bristled  with  shapeless  mon- 
sters lying  in  wait  for  boys! 

And  that  hated  dark  closet  where  he  was  shut  up  "un- 
til he  could  learn  to  be  good!"  And  the  useless  trap- 
door in  the  ceiling.  How  often  have  we  lain  in  the  dim 
light  at  night  and  seen  the  lid  lift  just  a  peep  for  ogre 
eyes  to  peer  out,  and,  when  the  terror  was  growing  be- 
yond endurance,  close  down,  only  to  lift  once  and  again, 
until  from  sheer  weariness  and  exhaustion  we  fell  into 
a  troubled  sleep  and  dreamed  of  the  hideous  monster 
which  inhabited  the  unused  garret!  Tell  me  that  the 
old  trapdoor  never  bent  its  hinges  in  response  to  either 
man  or  monster  for  twenty  years?  T  know  it  is  true, 
and  yet  I  am  not  convinced.  My  chiklish  fcare  have 
left  a  stronger  impression  than  proof  of  mere  facts  can 
ever  overrule. 

Fear  of  Being  Left  Alonft. — And  the  fear  of  being  left 
alone.  How  big  and  di-cadful  the  house  seemed  with 
the  folks  all  gone !  How  we  suddenly  made  close  friends 
with  the  dog  or  the  cat,  even,  in  order  that  this  bit  of 
life  might  be  near  us!  Or,  failing  in  this,  we  have  gone 
out  to  tile  barn  among  the  chickens  and  the  pigs  and  the 
cows,  and  deserted  the  empty  house  with  its  torture  of 
loneliness.     What  was  there  so  terrible  in  being  alone? 


INSTINCT  223 

I  do  not  know.  I  know  only  that  to  many  children  it 
is  a  torture  more  exquisite  than  the  adult  organism  is 
fitted  to  experience. 

But  why  multiply  the  recollections?  They  bring  a 
tremor  to  the  strongest  of  us  today.  Who  of  us  would 
choose  to  live  through  those  childish  fears  again  ?  Dream 
fears,  fears  of  animals,  fears  of  furry  things,  fears  of 
ghosts  and  of  death,  dread  of  fatal  diseases,  fears  of 
fire  and  of  water,  of  strange  persons,  of  storms,  fears 
of  things  unknown  and  even  unimagined,  but  all  the 
more  fearful !  Would  you  all  like  to  relive  your  child- 
hood for  its  pleasures  if  you  had  to  take  along  with 
them  its  sufferings?  Would  the  race  choose  to  live  its 
evolution  over  again  ?  I  do  not  know.  But,  for  my  own 
part,  I  should  very  much  hesitate  to  turn  the  hands  of 
time  backward  in  either  case.  Would  that  the  adults 
at  life's  noonday,  in  remembering  the  childish  fears  of 
life's  morning,  might  feel  a  sympathy  for  the  children  of 
today,  who  are  not  yet  escaped  from  the  bonds  of  the 
fear  instinct.  Would  that  all  might  seek  to  quiet  every 
foolish  childish  fear,  instead  of  laughing  at  it  or  enhanc- 
ing it! 

7.     OTHER  UNDESIRABLE  INSTINCTS 

We  are  all  provided  by  nature  with  some  instincts 
which,  while  they  may  serve  a  good  purpose  in  our  de- 
velopment, need  to  be  suppressed  or  at  least  modified 
when  they  have  done  their  work. 

Selfishness. — All  children,  and  perhaps  all  adults,  are 
selfish.  The  little  child  will  appropriate  all  the  candy, 
and  give  none  to  his  playmate.  He  v/ill  grow  angry 
and  fight  rather  than  allow  brother  or  sister  to  use  a 
favorite  plaything.  He  will  demand  the  mother's  atten- 
tion and  care  even  when  told  that  she  is  tired  or  ill, 


224  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

and  not  able  to  minister  to  him.  But  all  of  this  is  true 
to  nature  and,  though  it  needs  to  be  changed  to  gener- 
osity and  unselfishness,  is,  after  all,  a  vital  factor  in  our 
natures.  For  it  is  better  in  the  long  run  that  each  one 
should  look  out  for  himself,  rather  than  to  be  so  care- 
less of  his  own  interests  and  needs  as  to  require  help 
from  others.  The  problem  in  education  is  so  to  balance 
selfishness  and  greed  with  unselfishness  and  generosity 
that  each  serves  as  a  check  and  a  balance  to  the  other. 
Not  elimination  but  equilibrium  is  to  be  our  watchword. 
Pugnacity,  or  the  Fighting  Impulse. — Almost  every 
normal  child  is  a  natural  fighter,  just  as  every  adult 
should  possess  the  spirit  of  conquest.  The  long  history 
of  conflict  through  which  our  race  has  come  has  left  its 
mark  in  our  love  of  combat.  The  pugnacity  of  children, 
especially  of  boys,  is  not  so  much  to  be  deprecated  and 
suppressed  as  guided  into  right  lines  and  rendered  sub- 
ject to  right  ideals.  The  boy  who  picks  a  quarrel  has 
been  done  a  kindness  when  given  a  drubbing  that  will 
check  this  tendency.  On  the  other  hand,  one  who  risks 
battle  in  defense  of  a  weaker  comrade  does  no  ignoble 
thing.  Children  need  very  early  to  be  taught  the  base- 
ness of  fighting  for  the  sake  of  conflict,  and  the  glory 
of  going  down  to  defeat  fighting  in  a  righteous  cause. 
The  world  could  well  stand  more  of  this  spirit  among 
adults ! 

Let  us  then  hear  the  conclusion  of  the  whole  matter. 
The  undesirable  instincts  do  not  need  encouragement.  It 
is  better  to  let  them  fade  away  from  disuse,  or  in  some 
ca.ses  even  by  atlaching  punishment  to  their  expression. 
They  are  echoes  from  a  distant  past,  and  not  serviceable 
in  this  better  present.  The  desirable  instincts  we  ore  to 
seize  itpoti  avd  utilize  as  starting  points  for  the  develop- 


INSTINCT  225 

ment  of  useful  mterests,  good  habits,  and  the  higher 
emotional  life.  We  should  take  them  as  they  come,  for 
their  appearance  is  a  sure  sign  that  the  organism  is 
ready  for  and  needs  the  activity  they  foreshadow;  and, 
furthermore,  if  they  are  not  used  when  they  present 
themselves,  they  disappear,  never  to  return. 


8.     PROBLEMS  IN  OBSERVATION  AND  INTROSPECTION 

1.  What  instincts  have  you  noticed  developing  in  chil- 
dren? What  ones  have  you  observed  to  fade  away?  Can  you 
fix  the  age  in  both  cases?  Apply  these  questions  to  your  own 
development  as  you  remember  it  or  can  get  it  by  tradition 
from  your  elders. 

2.  What  use  of  imitation  may  be  made  in  teaching  (1) 
literature,  (2)  composition,  (3)  music,  (4)  good  manners,  (5) 
morals? 

3.  Should  children  be  taught  to  play?  Make  a  list  of  the 
games  you  think  all  children  should  know  and  be  able  to  play. 
It  has  been  said  that  it  is  as  important  for  a  people  to  be 
able  to  use  their  leisure  time  wisely  as  to  use  their  work  time 
profitably.     Why  should  this  be  true? 

4.  Observe  the  instruction  of  children  to  discover  the  ex- 
tent to  which  use  is  made  of  the  constructive  instinct.  The 
collecting  instinct.  The  dramatic  instinct.  Descnbe  a  plan 
by  which  each  of  these  instincts  can  be  successfully  used  in 
some  branch  of  study. 

5.  What  examples  can  you  recount  from  your  own  experi- 
ence of  conscious  imitation?  of  unconscious  imitation?  of  the 
influence  of  environment?  What  Is  the  application  of  the 
preceding  question  to  the  esthetic  quality  of  our  school  build- 
ings? 

6.  Have  you  ever  observed  that  children  under  a  dozen 
years  of  age  usually  cannot  be  depended  upon  for  "team 
work"  in  their  games?    How  do  you  explain  this  fact? 


CHAPTER   XIV 
FEELING  AND  ITS  FUNCTIONS 

In  the  psychical  world  as  well  as  the  physical  we  must 
meet  and  overcome  inertia.  Our  lives  must  be  com- 
pelled by  motive  forces  strong  enough  to  overcome 
this  natural  inertia,  and  enable  us  besides  to  make 
headway  against  many  obstacles.  The  motive  power 
that  drives  us  consists  chiefly  of  our  feelings  and  emo- 
tions. Knowledge,  cognition,  supplies  the  rudder  that 
guides  our  ship,  but  feeling  and  emotion  supply  the 
power. 

To  convince  one's  head  is,  therefore,  not  enough;  his 
feelings  must  be  stirred  if  you  would  be  sure  of  moving 
him  to  action.  Often  have  we  known  that  a  certain  line 
of  action  was  right,  but  failed  to  follow  it  because  feeling 
led  in  a  different  direction.  When  decision  has  been, 
hanging  in  the  balance  we  have  piled  on  one  side  obliga- 
tion, duty,  sense  of  right,  and  a  dozen  other  reasons  for 
action,  only  to  have  them  all  outweighed  by  the  one  sin- 
gle :  It  is  disagreeable.  Judgment,  reason,  and  experi- 
ence may  unite  to  tell  us  that  a  contemplated  course  is 
unwise,  and  imagination  may  reveal  to  us  its  disastrous 
consequences,  and  yet  its  pleasures  so  appeal  to  us 
that  we  yield.  Our  feelings  often  prove  a  stronger 
motive  than  knowledge  and  will  combined ;  they  are 
a  factor  constantly  to  be  reckoned  with  among  our  mo- 
tives. 

226 


FEELING  AND  ITS  FUNCTIONS  227 

1.     THE  NATURE  OF  FEELING 

It  will  be  our  purpose  in  the  next  few  chapters  to 
study  the  affective  content  of  consciousness — the  'feel- 
ings and  emotions.  The  present  chapter  will  be  devoted 
to  the  feelings  and  the  one  that  follows  to  the  emo- 
tions. 

The  Different  Feeling  Qualities. — At  least  six  (some 
writers  say  even  more)  distinct  and  qualitatively  differ- 
ent feeling  states  are  easily  distinguished.  These 
are :  pleasure,  pain;  desire,  repugnunce;  interest,  apathy. 
Pleasure  and  pain,  and  desire  and  repugnance,  are  di- 
rectly opposite  or  antagonistic  feelings.  Interest  and 
apathy  are  not  opposites  in  a  similar  way,  since  apathy 
is  but  the  absence  of  interest,  and  not  its  antagonist.  In 
place  of  the  terms  pleasure  and  pain,  the  pleasant  and 
the  unpleasant,  or  the  agreeable  and  the  disagreeable, 
are  often  used.  Aversion  is  frequently  employed  as  a 
synonym  for  repugnance. 

It  is  somewhat  hard  to  believe  on  first  thought  that 
feeling  comprises  but  the  classes  given.  For  have  we 
not  often  felt  the  pain  from  a  toothache,  from  not  being 
able  to  take  a  long-planned  trip,  from  the  loss  of  a  dear 
friend?  Surely  these  are  very  different  classes  of  feel- 
ings! Likewise  we  have  been  happy  from  the  very  joy 
of  living,  from  being  praised  for  some  well-doing,  or 
from  the  presence  of  friend  or  lover.  And  here  again 
we  seem  to  have  widely  different  classes  of  feelings. 

We  must  remember,  however,  that  feeling  is  always 
based  on  something  knoimi.  It  never  appears  alone  in 
consciousness  as  mere  pleasures  or  pains.  The  mind 
must  have  something  about  which  to  feel.  The  "what" 
must  precede  the  "how."  What  we  commonly  call  a 
feeling  is  a  complex  state  of  consciousness  in  which  feel- 


228  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

ing  predomhmtes,  but  which  has,  nevertheless,  a  basis 
of  sensation,  or  memory,  or  some  other  cognitive  pro- 
cess. And  what  so  greatly  varies  in  the  different 
cases  of  the  illustrations  just  given  is  precisely  this 
knowledge  element,  and  not  the  feeling  element.  A 
feeling  of  unpleasantness  is  a  feeling  of  unpleasant- 
ness whether  it  comes  from  an  aching  tooth  or  from 
the  loss  of  a  friend.  It  may  differ  in  degree,  and  the 
entire  mental  states  of  which  the  feeling  is  a  part  may 
differ  vastly,  but  the  simple  feeling  itself  is  of  the  same 
quality. 

Feeling  Always  Present  in  Mental  Content. — No  phase 
of  our  mental  life  is  without  the  feeling  element.  "We 
look  at  the  rainbow  with  its  beautiful  and  harmonious 
blending  of  colors,  and  a  feeling  of  pleasure  aceompanies 
the  sensation ;  then  we  turn  and  gaze  at  the  glaring  sun, 
and  a  disagreeable  feeling  is  the  residt.  A  strong  feel- 
ing of  pleasantness  accompanies  the  experience  of  the 
voluptuous  warmth  of  a  cozy  bed  on  a  cold  morning,  but 
the  plunge  between  the  icy  sheets  on  the  preceding  eve- 
ning was  accompanied  by  the  opposite  feeling.  The  touch 
of  a  hand  may  occasion  a  thrill  of  ecstatic  pleasure,  or  it 
may  be  accompanied  by  a  feeling  equally  disagreeable. 
And  so  on  through  the  whole  range  of  sensation ;  we  not 
only  know  the  various  objects  about  us  through  sensa- 
tion and  perception,  but  we  also  feel  while  we  know. 
Cognition,  or  the  knowing  processes,  gives  us  our 
"whats";  and  feeling,  or  the  affective  processes,  gives  us 
our  "hows."  What  is  yonder  object?  A  bouquet.  How 
does  it  affect  you  ?    Pleasurably. 

If,  instead  of  the  simpler  sensory  processes  which  we 
have  just  considered,  we  take  the  more  complex  proc- 
esses, such  as  memory,  imagination,  and  thinking,  the 
case  is  no  different.    "Who  has  not  reveled  in  the  pleasure 


FEELING  AND  ITS  FUNCTIONS  229 

accompanying  the  memories  of  past  joys  ?  On  the  other 
hand,  who  is  free  from  all  unpleasant  memories — from 
regrets,  from  pangs  of  remorse?  Who  has  not  dreamed 
away  an  hour  in  pleasant  anticipation  of  some  desired 
object,  or  spent  a  miserable  hour  in  dreading  some 
calamity  which  imagination  pictured  to  him?  Feeling 
also  accompanies  our  thought  processes.  Everyone  has 
experienced  the  feeling  of  the  pleasure  of  intellectual 
victory  over  some  difficult  problem  which  had  baffled  the 
reason,  or  over  some  doubtful  case  in  which  our  judg- 
ment proved  correct.  And  likewise  none  has  escaped 
the  feeling  of  unpleasantness  which  accompanies  intel- 
lectual defeat.  Whatever  the  contents  of  our  mental 
stream,  "we  find  in  them,  everywhere  present,  a  certain 
color  of  passing  estimate,  an  immediate  sense  that  they 
are  worth  something  to  us  at  any  given  moment,  or  that 
they  then  have  an  interest  to  us. ' ' 

The  Seeming  Neutral  Feeling  Zone. — It  is  probable  that 
there  is  so  little  feeling  connected  with  many  of  the 
humdrum  and  habitual  experiences  of  our  everyday  lives, 
that  we  are  but  slightly,  if  at  all,  aware  of  a  feeling  state 
in  connection  with  them.  Yet  a  state  of  consciousness 
with  absolutely  no  feeling  side  to  it  is  as  unthinkable  as 
the  obverse  side  of  a  coin  without  the  reverse.  Some 
sort  of  feeling  tone  or  mood  is  always  present.  The  width 
of  the  affective  neutral  zone— that  is,  of  a  feeling  state  so 
little  marked  as  not  to  be  discriminated  as  either  pleas- 
ure or  pain,  desire  or  aversion — varies  with  different 
persons,  and  with  the  same  person  at  different  times. 
It  is  conditioned  largely  by  the  amount  of  attention 
given  in  the  direction  of  feeling,  and  also  on  the  fineness 
of  the  power  of  feeling  discrimination.  It  is  safe  to 
say  that  the  zero  range  is  usually  so  small  as  to  be  negli- 
gible. 


230  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

2.     MOOD  AND  DISPOSITION 

The  sum  total  of  all  the  feeling  accompanying  the  va- 
rious sensory  and  thought  processes  at  any  given  time 
results  in  what  we  may  call  our  feeling  tone,  or  mood. 

How  Mood  is  Produced. — During  most  of  our  waking 
hours,  and,  indeed,  during  our  sleeping  hours  as  well,  a 
multitude  of  sensory  currents  are  pouring  into  the  cor- 
tical centers.  At  the  present  moment  we  can  hear  the 
rumble  of  a  wagon,  the  chirp  of  a  cricket,  the  chatter 
of  distant  voices,  and  a  hundred  other  sounds  besides. 
At  the  same  time  the  eye  is  appealed  to  by  an  infinite 
variety  of  stimuli  in  light,  color,  and  objects;  the  skin, 
responds  to  many  contacts  and  temperatures ;  and  every 
other  type  of  end-organ  of  the  body  is  acting  as  a 
"sender"  to  telegraph  a  message  in  to  the  brain.  Add 
to  these  the  powerful  currents  which  are  constantly 
being  sent  to  the  cortex  from  the  visceral  organs — those 
of  respiration,  of  circulation,  of  digestion  and  assimila- 
tion. And  then  finally  add  the  central  processes  which 
accompany  the  flight  of  images  through  our  minds — 
our  meditations,  memories,  and  imaginations,  our  cogi- 
tations and  volitions. 

Thus  we  see  what  a  complex  our  feelings  must  be,  and 
how  impossible  to  have  any  moment  in  which  some  feel- 
ing is  not  present  as  a  part  of  our  mental  stream.  It  is 
this  complex,  now  made  up  chiefly  on  the  basis  of  the 
sensory  currents  coming  in  from  the  end-organs  or  the 
visceral  organs,  and  now  on  the  basis  of  those  in  the  cor- 
tex connected  with  our  thought  life,  wliicli  constitutes 
the  entire  feeling  tone,  or  mood. 

Mood  Colors  All  Our  Thinking.— Mood  depends  on  the 
character  of  the  aggregate  of  nerve  currents  entering  the 
cortex,  and  changes  as  the  character  of  the  current  va- 


FEELING  AND  ITS  FUNCTIONS  231 

ries.  If  the  currents  run  on  much  the  same  from  hour 
to  hour,  then  our  mood  is  correspondingly  constant;  if 
the  currents  are  variable,  our  mood  also  will  be  variable. 
Not  only  is  mood  dependent  on  our  sensations  and 
thoughts  for  its  quality,  but  it  in  turn  colors  our  entire 
mental  life.  It  serves  as  a  background  or  setting  whose 
hue  is  reflected  over  all  our  thinking.  Let  the  mood  be 
somber  and  dark,  and  all  the  world  looks  gloomy ;  on  the 
other  hand,  let  the  mood  be  bright  and  cheerful,  and 
the  world  puts  on  a  smile. 

It  is  told  of  one  of  the  early  circuit  riders  among 
the  New  England  ministry,  that  he  made  the  following 
entries  in  his  diary,  thus  well  illustrating  the  point: 
"Wed.  Eve.  Arrived  at  the  home  of  Bro.  Brown  late 
this  evening,  hungry  and  tired  after  a  long  day  in  the 
saddle.  Had  a  bountiful  supper  of  cold  pork  and  beans, 
warm  bread,  bacon  and  eggs,  coffee,  and  rich  pastry.  I 
go  to  rest  feeling  that  my  witness  is  clear ;  the  future  is 
bright;  I  feel  called  to  a  great  and  glorious  work  in 
this  place.  Bro.  Brown's  family  are  godly  people." 
The  next  entry  was  as  follows:  "Thur.  Morn.  Awak- 
ened late  this  morning  after  a  troubled  night.  I  am  very 
much  depressed  in  soul;  the  way  looks  dark;  far  from 
feeling  called  to  work  among  this  people,  I  am  beginning 
to  doubt  the  safety  of  my  own  soul.  I  am  afraid  the  de- 
sires of  Bro.  Brown  and  his  family  are  set  too  much 
on  carnal  things."  A  dyspeptic  is  usually  a  pessimist, 
and  an  optimist  always  keeps  a  bright  mood. 

Mood  Influences  Our  Judgments  and  Decisions. — The 
prattle  of  children  may  be  grateful  music  to  our  ears 
when  we  are  in  one  mood,  and  excruciatingly  discordant 
noise  when  we  are  in  another.  What  appeals  to  us  as  a 
good  practical  joke  one  day,  may  seem  a  piece  of  un- 
warranted   impertinence    on    another.      A    proposition 


232  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

which  looks  entirely  plausible  under  the  sangnine  mood 
induced  by  a  persuasive  orator,  may  appear  wholly  un- 
tenable a  few  hours  later.  Decisions  which  seemed  war- 
ranted when  we  were  in  an  angry  mood,  often  appear 
unwise  or  unjust  when  we  have  become  more  calm.  IMo- 
tives  which  easily  impel  us  to  action  when  the  world  looks 
bright,  fail  to  move  us  when  the  mood  is  somber.  The 
feelings  of  impending  peril  and  calamity  which  are  an 
inevitable  accompaniment  of  the  "blues,"  are  speedily 
dissipated  when  the  sun  breaks  through  the  clouds  and 
we  are  ourselves  again. 

Mood  Influences  Effort. — A  bright  and  hopeful  mood 
quickens  every  power  and  enhances  every  effort,  while  a 
hopeless  mood  limits  power  and  cripples  effort.  The 
football  team  which  goes  into  the  game  discouraged 
never  plays  to  the  limit.  The  student  who  attacks  his 
lesson  under  the  conviction  of  defeat  can  hardly  hope  to 
succeed,  while  the  one  who  enters  upon  his  work  confi- 
dent of  his  power  to  master  it  has  the  battle  already  half 
won.  The  world's  best  work  is  done  not  by  those  who 
live  in  the  shadow  of  discouragement  and  doubt,  but  by 
those  in  whose  breast  hope  springs  eternal.  The  optimist 
is  a  benefactor  of  the  race  if  for  no  other  reason  than 
the  sheer  contagion  of  his  hopeful  spirit;  the  pessimist 
contributes  neither  to  the  world's  welfare  nor  its  hap- 
piness. Youth's  proverbial  entliusiasm  and  dauntless 
energy  rest  upon  the  supreme  hopefulness  which  char- 
acterizes the  mood  of  tlie  young.  For  these  reasons,  if 
for  no  other,  the  mood  of  the  schoolroom  should  be  one 
of  liappiness  and  good  cheer. 

Disposition  a  Resultant  of  Moods. — Tlie  sum  total  of 
our  moods  gives  us  our  disposition.  Whether  these  are 
pleasant  or  unpleasant,  cheerful  or  gloomy,  will  depend 
on  the  predominating  character  of  the  moods  which  en- 


FEELING  AND  ITS  FUNCTIONS  233 

ter  into  them.  As  well  expect  to  gather  grapes  of  thorns 
or  figs  of  thistles,  as  to  secure  a  desirable  disposition 
out  of  undesirable  moods.  A  sunny  disposition  never 
comes  from  gloomy  moods,  nor  a  hopeful  one  out  of  the 
"blues. "  And  it  is  our  disposition,  more  than  the  power 
of  our  reason,  which,  after  all,  determines  our  desira- 
bility as  friends  and  companions. 

The  person  of  surly  disposition  can  hardly  make  a  de- 
sirable companion,  no  matter  what  his  intellectual  quali- 
ties may  be.  AVe  may  live  very  happily  with  one  who 
cannot  follow  the  reasoning  of  a  Newton,  but  it  is  hard 
to  live  with  a  person  chronically  subject  to  "black 
moods."  Nor  can  we  put  the  responsibility  for  our  dis- 
position off  on  our  ancestors.  It  is  not  an  inheri- 
tance, but  a  gro\Hh.  Slowly,  day  by  day,  and  mood 
by  mood,  we  build  up  our  disposition  until  finally  it 
comes  to  characterize  us. 

Temperament. — Some  are,  however,  more  predisposed 
to  certain  types  of  mood  than  are  others.  The  organi- 
zation of  our  nervous  system  which  we  get  through 
heredity  undoubtedly  has  much  to  do  with  the  feeling 
tone  into  which  we  most  easily  fall.  We  call  this  pre- 
disposition temperament.  On  the  effects  of  tempera- 
ment, our  ancestors  must  divide  the  responsibility  with 
us.  I  say  divide  the  responsibility,  for  even  if  we  find 
ourselves  predisposed  toward  a  certain  undesirable  type 
of  moods,  there  is  no  reason  why  we  should  give  up  to 
them.  Even  in  spite  of  hereditary  predispositions,  we 
can  still  largely  determine  for  ourselves  what  our  moods 

are  to  be. 

If  we  have  a  tendency  toward  cheerful,  quiet,  and  op- 
timistic moods,  the  psychologist  names  our  temperament 
the  sanguine;  if  we  are  tense,  easily  excited  and  irritable, 
with   a   tendency  toward  sullen  or   angry  moods,   the 


234  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

choleric;  if  we  are  given  to  frequent  fits  of  the  ' '  blues, ' ' 
if  we  usually  look  on  the  dark  side  of  things  and  have 
a  tendency  toward  moods  of  discouragement  and  the 
"dumps,"  the  melancholic;  if  hard  to  rouse,  and  given 
to  indolent  and  indifferent  moods,  the  phlegmatic. 
Whatever  be  our  temperament,  it  is  one  of  the  most  im- 
portant factors  in  our  character. 

3.     PERMANENT  FEELING  ATTITUDES,  OR  SENTIMENTS 

Besides  the  more  or  less  transitory  feeling  states  which 
we  have  called  moods,  there  exists  also  a  class  of  feeling 
attitudes,  which  contain  more  of  the  complex  intellectual 
element,  are  withal  of  rather  a  higher  nature,  and  much 
more  permanent  than  our  moods.  We  may  call  these 
our  seiitimxnts,  or  attitudes.  Our  sentiments  comprise 
the  somewhat  constant  level  of  feeling  combined  with 
cognition,  which  we  name  sympathy,  friendship,  love, 
patriotism,  religious  faith,  selfishness,  pride,  vanity,  etc. 
Like  our  dispositions,  our  sentiments  are  a  growth  of 
months  and  years.  Unlike  our  dispositions,  however, 
our  sentiments  are  relatively  independent  of  the  physio- 
logical undertone,  and  depend  more  largely  upon  long- 
continued  experience  and  intellectual  elements  as  a  basis. 
A  sluggish  liver  might  throw  us  into  an  irritable  mood 
and,  if  the  condition  were  long  continued,  might  result 
in  a  surly  dispasition ;  but  it  would  hardly  permanently 
destroy  one's  patriotism  and  make  him  turn  traitor  to 
his  country.  One's  feeling  attitude  on  such  matters  is 
too  deep  seated  to  be  modified  by  changing  whims. 

How  Sentiments  Develop. — Sentiments  have  their  be- 
ginning in  concrete  experiences  in  which  feeling  is  a 
predominant  element,  and  grow  through  the  multipli- 
cation of  these  experiences  much  as  the  concept  is  de- 


FEELING  AND  ITS  FUNCTIONS  235 

veloped  through  many  percepts.  There  is  a  residual  ele- 
ment left  behind  each  separate  experience  in  both  cases. 
In  the  case  of  the  concept  the  residual  element  is  intel- 
lectual, and  in  the  case  of  the  sentiment  it  is  a  complex 
in  which  the  feeling  element  is  predominant. 

How  this  comes  about  is  easily  seen  by  means  of  an 
illustration  or  two.  The  mother  feeds  her  child  when 
he  is  hungry,  and  an  agreeable  feeling  is  produced ;  she 
puts  him  into  the  bath  and  snuggles  him  in  her  arms, 
and  the  experiences  are  pleasant.  The  child  comes  to 
look  upon  the  mother  as  one  whose  especial  function  is 
to  make  things  pleasant  for  him,  so  he  comes  to  be  happy 
in  her  presence,  and  long  for  her  in  her  absence.  He 
finally  grows  to  love  his  mother  not  alone  for  the  count- 
less times  she  has  given  him  pleasure,  but  for  what  she 
herself  is.  The  feelings  connected  at  first  wholly  with 
pleasant  experiences  coming  through  the  ministrations 
of  the  mother,  strengthened  no  doubt  by  instinctive  tend- 
encies toward  affection,  and  later  enhanced  by  a  fuller 
realization  of  what  a  mother's  care  and  sacrifice  mean, 
grow  at  last  into  a  deep,  forceful,  abiding  sentiment  of 
love  for  the  mother. 

The  Effect  of  Experience. — Likewise  with  the  sentiment 
of  patriotism.  In  so  far  as  our  patriotism  is  a  true  pa- 
triotism and  not  a  noisy  clamor,  it  had  its  rise  in  feelings 
of  gratitude  and  love  when  we  contemplated  the  deeds 
of  heroism  and  sacrifice  for  the  flag,  and  the  blessings 
which  come  to  us  from  our  relations  as  citizens  to  our 
country.  If  we  have  had  concrete  cases  brought  to  our 
experience,  as,  for  example,  our  property  saved  from 
destruction  at  the  hands  of  a  mob  or  our  lives  saved 
from  a  hostile  foreign  foe,  the  patriotic  sentiment  will 
be  all  the  stronger. 

So  we  may  carry  the  illustration  into  all  the  senti- 


236  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

ments.  Our  religious  sentiments  of  adoration,  love,  and 
faith  have  their  origin  in  our  belief  in  the  care,  love, 
and  support  from,  a  higher  Being  typified  to  us  as 
children  by  the  care,  love,  and  support  of  our  parents. 
Pride  arises  from  the  appreciation  or  over-appreciation 
of  oneself,  his  attainments,  or  his  belongings.  Selfishness 
has  its  genesis  in  the  many  instances  in  which  pleasure 
results  from  ministering  to  self.  In  all  these  cases  it 
is  seen  that  our  sentiments  develop  out  of  our  experi- 
ences: they  are  the  permanent  but  ever-growing  results 
which  we  have  to  show  for  experiences  which  are  some- 
what long  continued,  and  in  which  a  certain  feeling  qual- 
ity is  a  strong  accompaniment  of  the  cognitive  part  of 
the  experience. 

The  Influence  of  Sentiment. — Our  sentiments,  like  our 
dispositions,  are  not  only  a  natural  gi-owth  from  the 
experiences  upon  which  they  are  fed,  but  they  in  turn 
have  large  influence  in  determining  the  direction  of 
our  further  development.  Our  sentiments  furnish  the 
soil  which  is  either  favorable  or  hostile  to  the  growth  of 
new  experiences.  One  in  whom  the  sentiment  of  true 
patriotism  is  deep-rooted  will  find  it  much  harder  to  re- 
spond to  a  suggestion  to  betray  his  country's  honor  on 
battlefield,  in  legislative  hall,  or  in  private  life,  than  one 
lacking  in  this  sentiment.  The  boy  who  has  a  strong 
sentiment  of  love  for  his  mother  will  find  this  a  restrain- 
ing ill fl nonce  in  the  face  of  temptation  to  commit  deeds 
which  would  wound  her  feelings.  A  deep  and  abiding 
faith  in  God  is  fatal  to  the  growth  of  pessimism,  dis- 
trust, and  a  self-centered  life.  One's  sentiments  are  a 
safe  gauge  of  his  character.  Let  us  know  a  man's  atti- 
tude or  sentiments  on  religion,  morality,  friendship, 
honesty,  and  the  other  great  (juestions  of  life,  and  little 
remains  to  be  known.     If  he  is  right  on  these,  he  may 


FEELING  AND  ITS  FUNCTIONS  237 

well  be  trusted  in  other  things;  if  he  is  wrong  on  these, 
there  is  little  to  build  upon. 

Literature  has  drawn  its  best  inspiration  and  choicest 
themes  from  the  field  of  our  sentiments.  The  sentiment 
of  friendship  has  given  us  our  David  and  Jonathan,  our 
Damon  and  Pythias,  and  our  Tennyson  and  Hallam. 
The  sentiment  of  love  has  inspired  countless  master- 
pieces; without  its  aid  most  of  our  fiction  would  lose  its 
plot,  and  most  of  our  poetry  its  charm.  Keligious  sen- 
timent inspired  jNIilton  to  write  the  world's  greatest  epic, 
"Paradise  Lost."  The  sentiment  of  patriotism  has  fur- 
nished an  inexhaustible  theme  for  the  writer  and  the 
orator.  Likewise  if  we  go  into  the  field  of  music 
and  art,  we  find  that  the  best  ejfforts  of  the  masters 
are  clustered  around  some  human  sentiment  which  has 
appealed  to  them,  and  which  they  have  immortalized 
by  expressing  it  on  canvas  or  in  marble,  that  it  may 
appeal  to  others  and  cause  the  sentiment  to  grow  in 
us. 

Sentiments  as  Motives. — The  sentiments  furnish  the 
deepest,  the  most  constant,  and  the  most  powerful  mo- 
tives which  control  our  lives.  Such  sentiments  as  pa- 
triotism, liberty,  and  religion  have  called  a  thousand 
armies  to  struggle  and  die  on  ten  thousand  battlefields, 
and  have  given  martyrs  courage  to  suffer  in  the  fires  of 
persecution.  Sentiments  of  friendship  and  love  have 
prompted  countless  deeds  of  self-sacrifice  and  loving  de- 
votion. Sentiments  of  envy,  pride,  and  jealousy  have 
changed  the  boundary  lines  of  nations,  and  have 
prompted  the  committing  of  ten  thousand  unnamable 
crimes.  Slowly  day  by  day  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave 
we  are  weaving  into  our  lives  the  threads  of  sentiment, 
which  at  last  become  so  many  cables  to  bind  us  to  good  or 
evil. 


238  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

4.     PEOBLEMS   IN   OBSERVATION   AND   INTROSPECTION 

1.  Are  you  subject  to  the  ^'blues/'  or  other  fonus  of  de- 
pressed feeling?  Are  your  moods  veiy  changeable,  or  rather 
constant?  What  kind  of  a  disposition  do  you  think  you 
have?  How  did  you  come  by  it;  that  is,  in  how  far  is  it  due 
to  hereditary  temperament,  and  in  how  far  to  your  daily 
moods  ? 

2.  Can  you  recall  an  instance  in  which  some  undesirable 
mood  was  caused  by  your  physical  condition?  By  some  dis' 
turbing  mental  condition  ?  What  is  your  characteristic  mood 
in  the  morning  after  sleeping  in  an  ill-ventilated  room?  After 
sitting  for  half  a  day  in  an  ill-ventilated  schoolroom?  iVfter 
eating  indigestible  food  before  going  to  bed? 

3.  Observe  a  number  of  children  or  your  classmates  closely 
and  see  whether  you  can  determine  the  characteristic  mood  of 
each.  Observe  several  different  schools  and  see  whether  you 
can  note  a  characteristic  mood  for  each  room.  Ti-y  to  deter- 
mine the  causes  producing  the  differences  noted.  (Physical 
conditions  in  the  room,  personality  of  the  teacher,  methods  of 
governing,  teaching,  etc.) 

4.  When  can  you  do  your  best  work,  when  you  are  happy, 
or  unhappy?  Cheerful,  or  "blue"?  Confident  and  hopeful,  or 
discouraged?  In  a  spirit  of  hannony  and  cooperation  with 
your  teacher,  or  antagonistic?  Now  relate  your  conclusions 
to  the  type  of  atmosphere  that  should  prevail  in  the  school- 
room or  the  home.  Foi-mulate  a  statement  as  to  why  the 
"spirit"  of  the  school  is  all-important.  (Effect  on  effort, 
growth,  disposition,  sentiments,  character,  etc.) 

5.  Can  you  measure  more  or  less  accurately  the  extent  to 
which  your  feelings  serve  as  motives  in  your  life?  Are  feel- 
ings alone  a  safe  guide  to  action?  Make  a  list  of  the  impor- 
tant sentiments  that  should  be  cultivated  in  youth.  Now  show 
how  the  work  of  the  school  may  be  used  to  strengthen  worthy 
eentimeuts. 


CHAPTER   XV 

THE  EMOTIONS 

Feeling  and  emotion  are  not  to  be  looked  upon  as  two 
different  kinds  of  mental  processes.  In  fact,  emotion  is 
but  a  feeling  state  of  a  high  degree  of  intensity  and  com- 
plexity. Embtion  transcends  the  simpler  feeling  states 
whenever  the  exciting  cause  is  sufficient  to  throw  us  out 
of  our  regular  routine  of  affective  experience.  The  dis- 
tinction between  emotion  and  feeling  is  a  purely  arbi- 
trary one,  since  the  difference  is  only  one  of  complexity 
and  degree,  and  many  feelings  may  rise  to  the  intensity 
of  emotions.  A  feeling  of  sadness  on  hearing  of  a  num- 
ber of  fatalities  in  a  railway  accident  may  suddenly 
become  an  emotion  of  grief  if  we  learn  that  a  member 
of  our  family  is  among  those  killed.  A  feeling  of  glad- 
ness may  develop  into  an  emotion  of  joy,  or  a  feeling 
of  resentment  be  kindled  into  an  emotion  of  rage. 

1.    THE  PEODUCING  AND  EXPEESSING  OP  EMOTION 

Nowhere  more  than  in  connection  with  our  emotions 
are  the  close  inter-relations  of  mind  and  body  seen.  All 
are  familiar  with  the  fact  that  the  emotion  of  anger 
tends  to  find  expression  in  the  blow,  love  in  the  caress, 
fear  in  flight,  and  so  on.  But  just  how  our  organism 
acts  in  producing  an  emotion  is  less  generally  under- 
stood. Professor  James  and  Professor  Lauge  have 
shown  us  that  emotion  not  only  tends  to  produce  some 

239 


240  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

characteristic  form  of  response,  but  that  the  emotion 
is  itself  caused  by  certain  deep-seated  physiological  re- 
actions. Let  us  seek  to  understand  this  statement  a  lit- 
tle more  fully. 

Physiological  Explanation  of  Emotion. — We  must  re- 
member first  of  all  that  all  changes  in  mental  states  are 
accompanied  by  corresponding  physiological  changes. 
Hard,  concentrated  thinking  quickens  the  heart  beat; 
keen  attention  is  accompanied  by  muscular  tension ;  cer- 
tain sights  or  sounds  increase  the  rate  of  breathing;  of- 
fensive odors  produce  nausea,  and  so  on.  So  complete 
and  perfect  is  the  response  of  our  physical  organism  to 
mental  changes  that  one  psychologist  declares  it  possible, 
had  we  sufficiently  delicate  apparatus,  to  measure  the 
reactions  caused  throughout  the  body  of  a  sleeping  child 
by  the  shadow  from  a  passing  cloud  falling  upon  the 
closed  eyelids. 

The  order  of  the  entire  event  resulting  in  an  emotion 
is  as  follows:  (1)  Something  is  known;  some  object  en- 
ters consciousness  coming  either  from  immediate  per- 
ception or  through  memory  or  imagination.  This  fact, 
or  thing  known,  must  be  of  such  nature  that  it  will,  (2) 
set  up  deep-seated  and  characteristic  organic  response; 
(3)  the  feeling  accompanying  and  caused  hy  these  physi- 
ological reactions  constitutes  the  emotion.  For  exam- 
ple, we  may  be  passing  along  the  street  in  a  perfectly 
calm  and  equable  state  of  mind,  when  we  come  upon  a 
teamster  who  is  brutally  beating  an  exhausted  horse  be- 
cause it  is  unable  to  draw  an  overloaded  wagon  up  a 
slippery  incline.  The  facts  grasped  as  we  take  in  the 
situation  constitute  the  first  element  in  an  emotional  re- 
sponse developing  in  our  consciousness.  But  instantly 
our  muscles  begin  to  grow  tense,  the  heart  beat  and 
breath  quicken,  the  face  takes  on  a  different  expression, 


THE  EMOTIONS  241 

the  hands  clench — the  entire  organism  is  reacting  to  the 
disturbing  situation ;  the  second  factor  in  the  rising  emo- 
tion, the  physiological  response,  thus  appears.  Along 
with  our  apprehension  of  the  cruelty  and  the  or- 
ganic disturbances  which  result  we  feel  waves  of  in- 
dignation and  anger  surging  through  us.  This  is  the 
third  factor  in  the  emotional  event,  or  the  emotion  it- 
self. In  some  such  way  as  this  are  all  of  our  emotions 
aroused. 

Origin  of  Characteristic  Emotional  Reactions. — ^Vhy  do 
certain  facts  or  objects  of  consciousness  always  cause 
certain  characteristic  organic  responses  ? 

In  order  to  solve  this  problem  we  shall  have  first  to  go 
beyond  the  individual  and  appeal  to  the  history  of  the 
race.  What  the  race  has  found  serviceable,  the  individ- 
ual repeats.  But  even  then  it  is  hard  to  see  why  the 
particular  type  of  physical  response  such  as  shrinking, 
pallor,  and  trembling,  which  naturally  follow  stimuli 
threatening  harm,  should  be  the  best.  It  is  easy  to  see. 
however,  that  the  feeling  which  prompts  to  flight  or 
serves  to  deter  from  harm's  way  might  be  useful.  It  is 
plain  that  there  is  an  advantage  in  the  tense  muscle,  the 
set  teeth,  the  held  breath,  and  the  quickened  pul.se  which 
accompany  the  emotion  of  anger,  and  also  in  the  feel- 
ing of  anger  itself,  which  prompts  to  the  conflict.  But 
even  if  we  are  not  able  in  every  case  to  determine  at 
this  day  why  all  the  instinctive  responses  and  their 
correlate  of  feeling  were  the  best  for  the  life  of  the 
race,  we  may  be  sure  that  such  was  the  case;  for  Na- 
ture is  inexorable  in  her  dictates  that  only  that  shall 
persist  which  has  proved  serviceable  in  the  largest  num- 
ber of  cases. 

An  interesting  question  arises  at  this  point  as  to  why 
we  feel  emotion  accompanying  some  of  our  motor  re- 


242  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

sponses,  and  not  others.  Perceptions  are  crowding  in 
upon  us  hour  after  hour;  memory,  thought,  and  imagi- 
nation are  in  constant  play ;  and  a  continuous  motor  dis- 
charge results  each  moment  in  physical  expressions  great 
or  small.  Yet,  in  spite  of  these  facts,  feeling  which  is 
strong  enough  to  rise  to  an  emotion  is  only  an  occasional 
thing.  If  emotion  accompanies  any  form  of  physical 
expression,  why  not  all?  Let  us  see  whether  we  can 
discover  any  reason.  One  day  I  saw  a  boy  leading  a  dog 
along  the  street.  All  at  once  the  dog  slipped  the  string 
over  its  head  and  ran  away.  The  boy  stood  looking  after 
the  dog  for  a  moment,  and  then  burst  into  a  fit  of  rage. 
What  all  had  happened?  The  moment  before  the  dog 
broke  away  everything  was  running  smoothly  in  the  ex- 
perience of  the  boy.  There  was  no  obstruction  to  his 
thought  or  his  plans.  Then  in  an  instant  the  situation 
changes.  The  smooth  flow  of  experience  is  checked  and 
baffled.  The  discharge  of  nerve  currents  which  meant 
thought,  plans,  action,  is  blocked.  A  crisis  has  arisen 
which  requires  readjustment.  The  nerve  currents  must 
flow  in  new  directions,  giving  new  thought,  new  plans, 
new  activities — the  dog  must  be  recaptured.  It  is  in 
connection  with  this  damming  up  of  nerve  currents 
from  following  their  wonted  channels  that  the  emo- 
tion emerges.  Or,  putting  it  into  mental  terms, 
the  emotion  occurs  when  the  ordinary  current  of 
our  thought  is  violently  disturbed — when  we  meet  with 
some  crisis  which  necessitates  a  readjustment  of  our 
thought  relations  and  plans,  either  temporarily  or  per- 
manently. 

The  Duration  of  an  Emotion. — If  the  required  read- 
justment is  but  temporary,  then  the  emotion  is  short- 
lived, while  if  the  readjustment  is  necessarily  of  longer 
duration,  the  emotion  also  will  live  longer.     The  fear 


THE  EMOTIONS  243 

which  follows  the  thunder  is  relatively  brief;  for  the 
shock  is  gone  in  a  moment,  and  our  thought  is  but  tem- 
porarily disturbed.  If  the  impending  danger  is  one  that 
persists,  however,  as  of  some  secret  assassin  threatening 
our  life,  the  fear  also  will  persist.  The  grief  of  a  child 
over  the  loss  of  someone  dear  to  him  is  comparatively 
short,  because  the  current  of  the  child 's  life  has  not  been 
so  closely  bound  up  in  a  complexity  of  experiences  with 
the  lost  object  as  in  the  case  of  an  older  person,  and 
hence  the  readjustment  is  easier.  The  grief  of  an  adult 
over  the  loss  of  a  very  dear  friend  lasts  long,  for  the 
object  grieved  over  has  so  become  a  part  of  the  bereaved 
one's  experience  that  the  loss  requires  a  very  complete 
readjustment  of  the  whole  life.  In  either  case,  however, 
as  this  readjustment  is  accomplished  the  emotion  grad- 
ually fades  away. 

Emotions  Accompanyiiig  Crises  in  Experience. — If  our 
description  of  the  feelings  has  been  correct,  it  will  be 
seen  that  the  simpler  and  milder  feelings  are  for  the 
common  run  of  our  everyday  experience;  they  are  the 
common  valuers  of  our  thought  and  acts  from  hour  to 
hour.  The  emotions,  or  more  intense  feeling  states,  are, 
however,  the  occasional  high  tide  of  feeling  which  oc- 
curs in  crises  or  emergencies.  We  are  angry  on  some 
particular  provocation,  we  fear  some  extraordinary  fac- 
tor in  our  environment,  we  are  joyful  over  some  unusual 
good  fortune. 

2.     THE  CONTROL  OF  EMOTIONS 

Dependence  on  Expression.— Since  all  emotions  rest 
upon  some  form  of  physical  or  physiological  expression 
primarily,  and  upon  some  thought  back  of  this  sec- 
ondarily, it  follows  that  the  first  step  in  controUing  an 


244  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

emotion  is  to  secure  the  removal  of  the  state  of  conscious- 
ness which  serves  as  its  basis.  This  may  be  done,  for 
instance,  with  a  child,  either  by  banishing  the  terrifying 
dog  from  his  presence,  or  by  convincing  him  that  the 
dog  is  harmless.  The  motor  response  will  then  cease,  and 
the  emotion  pass  away.  If  the  thought  is  persistent, 
however,  through  the  continuance  of  its  stimulus,  then 
what  remains  is  to  seek  to  control  the  physical  expres- 
sion, and  in  that  way  suppress  the  emotion.  If,  instead 
of  the  knit  brow,  the  tense  muscles,  the  quickened  heart 
beat,  and  all  the  deeper  organic  changes  which  go  along 
with  these,  we  can  keep  a  smile  on  the  face,  the  muscles 
relaxed,  the  heart  beat  steady,  and  a  normal  condition  in 
all  the  other  organs,  we  shall  have  no  cause  to  fear  an 
explosion  of  anger.  If  we  are  afraid  of  mice  and  feel  an 
almost  irresistible  tendency  to  mount  a  chair  every  time 
we  see  a  mouse,  we  can  do  wonders  in  suppressing  the 
fear  by  resolutely  refusing  to  give  expression  to  these 
tendencies.  Inhibition  of  the  expression  inevitably 
means  the  death  of  the  emotion. 

This  fact  has  its  bad  side  as  well  as  its  good  in  the 
feeling  life,  for  it  means  that  good  emotions  as  well 
as  bad  will  fade  out  if  we  fail  to  allow  them  expression. 
We  are  all  perfectly  familiar  with  the  fact  in  our  own 
experience  that  an  interest  which  does  not  find  means 
of  expression  soon  passes  away.  Sympathy  unexpressed 
ere  long  passes  over  into  indifference.  Even  love  can- 
not live  without  expression.  Religious  emotion  which 
does  not  go  out  in  deeds  of  service  cannot  persist.  The 
natural  end  and  aim  of  our  emotions  is  to  serve  as  mo- 
tives to  activity;  and  missing  this  opportunity,  they 
have  not  only  failed  in  their  office,  but  will  themselves 
die  of  inaction. 

Relief  through  Expression. — Emotional  states  not  only 


THE  EMOTIONS  245 

have  their  rise  in  organic  reactions,  but  they  also  tend 
to  result  in  acts.  When  we  are  angry,  or  in  love,  or  in 
fear,  we  have  the  impulse  to  do  something  about  it.  And, 
while  it  is  true  that  emotion  may  be  inhibited  by  sup- 
pressing the  physical  expressions  on  which  it  is  founded, 
so  may  a  state  of  emotional  tension  be  relieved  by  some 
forms  of  expression.  None  have  failed  to  experience 
the  relief  which  comes  to  the  overcharged  nervous  sys- 
tem from  a  good  cry.  There  is  no  sorrow  so  bitter  as  a 
dry  sorrow,  when  one  cannot  weep.  A  state  of  anger 
or  annoyance  is  relieved  by  an  explosion  of  some  kind, 
whether  in  a  blow  or  its  equivalent  in  speech.  We  often 
feel  better  when  we  have  told  a  man  ' '  what  we  think  of 
him." 

At  first  glance  this  all  seems  opposed  to  what  we  have 
been  laying  down  as  the  explanation  of  emotion.  Yet  it 
is  not  so  if  we  look  well  into  the  case.  We  have  already 
seen  that  emotion  occurs  when  there  is  a  blocking  of 
the  usual  pathways  of  discharge  for  the  nerve  currents, 
which  must  then  seek  new  outlets,  and  thus  result  in 
the  setting  up  of  new  motor  responses.  In  the  case  of 
grief,  for  example,  there  is  a  disturbance  in  the  whole 
organism ;  the  heart  beat  is  deranged,  the  blood  pressure 
diminished,  and  the  nerve  tone  lowered.  What  is  needed 
is  for  the  currents  which  are  finding  an  outlet  in  direc- 
tions resulting  in  these  particular  responses  to  find  a 
pathway  of  discharge  which  will  not  produce  such  deep- 
seated  results.  This  may  be  found  in  crying.  The  en- 
ergy thus  expended  is  diverted  from  producing  internal 
disturbances.  Likewise,  the  explosion  in  anger  may 
serve  to  restore  the  equilibrium  of  disturbed  nerve  cur- 
rents. 

Relief  Does  Not  Follow  if  Image  is  Held  Before  the 
Mind. — All  this  is  true,  however,  only  when  the  expres- 


246  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

sion  does  not  serve  to  keep  the  idea  before  the  mind 
which  was  originally  responsible  for  the  emotion.  A 
person  may  work  himself  into  a  passion  of  anger  by  be- 
ginning to  talk  about  an  insult  and,  as  he  grows  increas- 
ingly violent,  bringing  the  situation  more  and  more 
sharply  into  his  consciousness.  The  effect  of  terrifying 
images  is  easily  to  be  observed  in  the  case  of  one's  start- 
ing to  run  when  he  is  afraid  after  night.  There  is  prob- 
ably no  doubt  that  the  running  would  relieve  his  fear 
providing  he  could  do  it  and  not  picture  the  threatening 
something  as  pursuing  him.  But,  with  his  imagination 
conjuring  up  dire  images  of  frightful  catastrophes  at 
every  step,  all  control  is  lost  and  fresh  waves  of  terror 
surge  over  the  shrinking  soul. 

Growing  Tendency  toward  Emotional  Control. — Among 
civilized  peoples  there  is  a  constantly  growing  tendency 
toward  emotional  control.  Primitive  races  express  grief, 
joy,  fear,  or  anger  much  more  freely  than  do  civilized 
races.  This  does  not  mean  that  primitive  man  feels 
more  deeply  than  civilized  man ;  for,  as  we  have  already 
seen,  the  crying,  laughing,  or  blustering  is  but  a  small 
part  of  the  whole  physical  expression,  and  one's  entire 
organism  may  be  stirred  to  its  depths  without  any  of 
these  outward  manifestations.  Man  has  found  it  ad- 
visable as  he  has  advanced  in  civilization  not  to  reveal 
all  he  feels  to  those  around  him.  The  face,  which  is  the 
most  expressive  part  of  the  body,  has  come  to  be  under 
such  perfect  coutrol  tliat  it  is  hard  to  read  through  it  the 
emotional  state,  although  the  face  of  civilized  man  is 
capable  of  expressing  far  more  than  is  that  of  the  sav- 
age. The  same  difference  is  observal)U>  between  the  child 
and  the  adult.  The  child  reveals  each  passing  shade  of 
emotion  through  his  expression,  while  the  adult  may  feel 
nuich  that  he  does  not  show. 


THE  EMOTIONS  247 

3.     CULTIVATION  OF  THE  EMOTIONS 

There  is  no  other  mental  factor  which  has  more  to 
do  with  the  enjoyment  we  get  out  of  life  than  our  feel- 
ings and  emotions. 

The  Emotions  and  Enjoyment. — Few  of  us  would  care 
to  live  at  all,  if  all  feeling  were  eliminated  from  human 
experience.  True,  feeling  often  makes  us  suffer ;  but  in 
so  far  as  life's  joys  triumph  over  its  woes,  do  our  feelings 
minister  to  our  enjoyment.  Without  sympathy,  love, 
and  appreciation,  life  would  be  barren  indeed.  More- 
over, it  is  only  through  our  own  emotional  experience 
that  we  are  able  to  interpret  the  feeling  side  of  the  lives 
about  us.  Failing  in  this,  we  miss  one  of  the  most  sig- 
nificant phases  of  social  experience,  and  are  left  with  our 
own  sympathies  undeveloped  and  our  life  by  so  much 
impoverished. 

The  interpretation  of  the  subtler  emotions  of  those 
about  us  is  in  no  small  degree  an  art.  The  human  face 
and  form  present  a  constantly  changing  panorama  of 
the  soul's  feeling  states  to  those  who  can  read  their  signs. 
The  ability  to  read  the  finer  feelings,  which  reveal 
themselves  in  expression  too  delicate  to  be  read  by  the 
eye  of  the  gross  or  unsympathetic  observer,  lies  at  the 
basis  of  all  fine  interpretation  of  personality.  Feelings 
are  often  too  deep  for  outward  expression,  and  we  are 
slow  to  reveal  our  deepest  selves  to  those  who  cannot  ap- 
preciate and  understand  them. 

How  Emotions  Develop.— Emotions  are  to  be  cultivated 
as  the  intellect  or  the  muscles  are  to  be  cultivated; 
namely,  through  proper  exercise.  Our  thought  is  to 
dwell  on  those  things  to  which  proper  emotions  attach, 
and  to  shun  lines  which  would  suggest  emotions  of  an 
undesirable  type.     Emotions  which  are  to  be  developed 


248  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

must,  as  has  already  been  said,  find  expression ;  we  must 
act  in  response  to  their  leadings,  else  they  become  but 
idle  vaporings.  If  love  prompts  us  to  say  a  kind  word 
to  a  suffering  fellow  mortal,  the  word  must  be  spoken 
or  the  feeling  itself  fades  away.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  emotions  which  Ave  wish  to  suppress  are  to  be  re- 
fused expression.  The  unkind  and  cutting  word  is  to 
be  left  unsaid  when  we  are  angry,  and  the  fear  of  things 
which  are  harmless  left  unexpressed  and  thereby  doomed 
to  die. 

The  Emotional  Factor  in  Our  Environment. — Much  ma- 
terial for  the  cultivation  of  our  emotions  lies  in  the 
everyday  life  all  about  us  if  we  can  but  interpret  it.  Few 
indeed  of  those  whom  we  meet  daily  but  are  hungering 
for  appreciation  and  sympathy.  Lovable  traits  exist 
in  every  character,  and  will  reveal  themselves  to  the  one 
who  looks  for  them.  ]\liscarriages  of  justice  abound  on 
all  sides,  and  demand  our  indignation  and  wrath  and 
the  effort  to  right  the  wrong.  Evil  always  exists  to  be 
hated  and  suppressed,  and  dangers  to  be  feared  and 
avoided.  Human  life  and  the  movement  of  human  af- 
fairs constantly  appeal  to  the  feeling  side  of  our  nature 
if  we  understand  at  all  what  life  and  action  mean. 

A  certain  blindness  exists  in  many  people,  however, 
which  makes  our  own  little  joys,  or  sorrows,  or  fears 
the  most  remarkable  ones  in  the  workl,  and  keeps  us 
from  realizing  that  others  may  feel  as  deeply  as  we. 
Of  course  this  self-centered  attitude  of  mind  is  fatal 
to  any  true  cultivation  of  the  emotions.  It  leads  to  an 
emotional  life  which  lacks  not  only  breadth  and  depth, 
but  also  perspective. 

Literature  and  the  Cultivation  of  the  Emotions. — In 
order  to  increase  our  facility  in  the  interpretation  of  the 
emotions  tiirongh  tcadiing  us  what  to  look  for  in  life 


THE  EMOTIONS  249 

and  experience,  we  may  go  to  literature.  Here  we  find 
life  interpreted  for  us  in  the  ideal  by  masters  of  inter- 
pretation ;  and,  looking  through  tlieir  eyes,  we  see  new 
depths  and  breadths  of  feeling  which  we  had  never  be- 
fore discovered.  Indeed,  literature  deals  far  more  in 
the  aggregate  with  the  feeling  side  than  with  any  other 
aspect  of  human  life.  And  it  is  just  this  which  makes 
literature  a  universal  language,  for  the  language  of  our 
emotions  is  more  easily  interpreted  than  that  of  our 
reason.  The  smile,  the  cry,  the  laugh,  the  frown,  the 
caress,  are  understood  all  around  the  world  among  all 
peoples.     They  are  universal. 

There  is  always  this  danger  to  be  avoided,  however. 
We  may  become  so  taken  up  with  the  overwrought  de- 
scriptions of  the  emotions  as  found  in  literature  or  on 
the  stage  that  the  common  humdrum  of  everyday  life 
around  us  seems  flat  and  stale.  The  interpretation  of  the 
writer  or  the  actor  is  far  beyond  what  we  are  able  to 
make  for  ourselves,  so  we  take  their  interpretation 
rather  than  trouble  ourselves  to  look  in  our  own  environ- 
ment for  the  material  which  might  appeal  to  our  emo- 
tions. It  is  not  rare  to  find  those  who  easily  weep  over 
the  woes  of  an  imaginary  person  in  a  book  or  on  the 
stage  unable  to  feel  sympathy  for  the  real  suffering 
which  exists  all  around  them.  Tlie  story  is  told  of  a 
lady  at  the  theater  who  wept  over  the  suffering  of  the 
hero  in  the  play ;  and  at  the  moment  she  was  shedding 
the  unnecessary  tears,  her  own  coachman,  whom  she  had 
compelled  to  wait  for  her  in  the  street,  was  frozen  to 
death.  Our  seemingly  prosaic  environment  is  full  of 
suggestions  to  the  emotional  life,  and  books  and  plays 
should  only  help  to  develop  in  us  the  power  rightly  to 
respond  to  these  suggestions. 

Harm  in  Emotional  Overexcitement.— Danger  may  ex- 


250  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

ist  also  in  still  another  line ;  namely,  that  of  emotional 
Dverexcitement.  There  is  a  great  nervous  strain  in  high 
emotional  tension.  Nothing  is  more  exhausting  than  a 
severe  fit  of  anger;  it  leaves  its  victim  weak  and  limp. 
A  severe  case  of  fright  often  incapacitates  one  for  men- 
tal or  physical  labor  for  hours,  or  it  may  even  result  in 
permanent  injury.  The  whole  nervous  tone  is  distinctly 
lowered  by  sorrow,  and  even  excessive  joy  may  be  harm- 
ful. 

In  our  actual,  everyday  life,  there  is  little  danger  from 
emotional  overexcitement  unless  it  be  in  the  case  of  fear 
in  children,  as  was  shown  in  the  discussion  on  instincts, 
and  in  that  of  grief  over  the  loss  of  objects  that  are  dear 
to  us.  Most  of  our  childish  fears  we  could  just  as  well 
avoid  if  our  elders  were  wiser  in  the  matter  of  guarding 
us  against  those  that  are  unnecessary.  The  griefs  we 
cannot  hope  to  escape,  although  we  can  do  much  to  con- 
trol them.  Long-continued  emotional  excitement,  un- 
less it  is  followed  by  corresponding  activity,  gives  us 
those  who  weep  over  the  wrongs  of  humanity,  but  never 
do  anything  to  right  them ;  who  are  sorry  to  the  point 
of  death  over  human  suffering,  but  cannot  be  induced  to 
lend  their  aid  to  its  alleviation.  We  could  very  well 
spare  a  thousand  of  those  in  the  world  who  merely  feel, 
for  one  who  acts,  James  tells  us. 

We  should  watch,  then,  that  our  good  feelings  do  not 
simply  evaporate  as  feelings,  but  that  they  find  some 
place  to  apply  themselves  to  accomplish  good ;  that  we 
do  not,  like  Hamlet,  rave  over  wrongs  which  need  to 
be  righted,  but  never  bring  ourselves  to  the  point  where 
we  take  a  hand  in  their  rigliting.  If  our  emotional  life 
is  to  be  rich  and  deep  in  its  feeling  and  effective  in  its 
results  on  our  acts  and  character,  it  must  find  its  outlet 
in  deeds. 


THE  EMOTIONS  251 

4.     EMOTIONS  AS  MOTIVES 

Emotion  is  always  dynamic,  and  our  feelings  consti- 
tute our  strono:est  motives  to  action  and  achievement. 

How  Our  Emotions  Compel  Us. — Love  has  often  done 
in  the  reformation  of  a  fallen  life  what  strength  of  will 
was  not  able  to  accomplish;  it  has  caused  dynasties  to 
fall,  and  has  changed  the  map  of  nations.  Hatred  is 
a  motive  hardly  less  strong.  Fear  will  make  savage 
beasts  cat  of  men  who  fall  under  its  sway,  causing  them 
to  trample  helpless  women  and  children  under  feet, 
whom  in  their  saner  moments  they  would  protect  with 
their  lives.  Anger  puts  out  all  the  light  of  reason,  and 
prompts  peaceful  and  well-meaning  men  to  commit  mur- 
derous acts. 

Thus  feeling,  from  the  faintest  and  simplest  feeling  of 
interest,  the  various  ranges  of  pleasures  and  pain,  the 
sentiments  which  underlie  all  our  lives,  and  so  on  to  the 
mighty  emotions  which  grip  our  lives  with  an  overpow- 
ering strength,  constitutes  a  large  part  of  the  motive 
power  which  is  constantly  urging  us  on  to  do  and  dare. 
Hence  it  is  important  from  this  standpoint,  also,  that  we 
should  have  the  right  type  of  feelings  and  emotions  well 
developed,  and  the  undesirable  ones  eliminated. 

Emotional  Habits. — Emotion  and  feeling  are  partly 
matters  of  habit.  That  is,  we  can  form  emotional  as  well 
as  other  habits,  and  they  are  as  hard  to  break.  Anger 
allowed  to  run  uncontrolled  leads  into  habits  of  angry 
outbursts,  while  the  one  who  habitually  controls  his  tem- 
per finds  it  submitting  to  the  habit  of  remaining  within 
bounds.  One  may  cultivate  the  habit  of  showing  his 
fear  on  all  occasions,  or  of  discouraging  its  expression. 
He  may  form  the  habit  of  jealousy  or  of  conlidence.  It 
is  possible  even  to  form  the  habit  of  falling  in  love,  or 


252  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

of  so  suppressing  the  tender  emotions  that  love  finds 
little  opportunity  for  expression. 

And  here,  as  elsewhere,  habits  are  formed  through 
performing  the  acts  upon  which  the  habit  rests.  If  there 
are  emotional  habits  we  are  desirous  of  forming,  what 
we  have  to  do  is  to  indulge  the  emotional  expression  of 
the  type  we  desire,  and  the  habit  will  follow.  If  we  wish 
to  form  the  habit  of  living  in  a  chronic  state  of  the 
blues,  then  all  we  have  to  do  is  to  be  blue  and  act  blue 
sufficiently,  and  this  form  of  emotional  expression  will 
become  a  part  of  us.  If  we  desire  to  form  the  habit  of 
living  in  a  happy,  cheerful  state,  we  can  accomplish  this 
by  encouraging  the  corresponding  expression. 

5.  PEOBLEMS  IN  OBSERVATION  AND  INTEOSPECTION 

1.  What  are  the  characteristic  bodily  expressions  by  which 
you  can  recognize  a  state  of  anger?  Tear?  Jealousy?  Ha/- 
tred?  Love?  Grief?  Do  you  know  persons  who  are  in- 
clined to  be  too  expressive  emotionally?  Who  show  too  little 
emotional  expression?  How  would  you  classify  yourself  in 
this  respect? 

2.  Are  you  naturally  responsive  to  the  emotional  tone  of 
others;  that  is,  are  you  sympathetic?  Are  you  easily  affected 
by  reading  emotional  books?  By  emotional  plays  or  other 
appe^Js?  What  is  the  danger  from  overexciting  the  emotions 
without  giving  them  a  proper  outlet  in  some  practical  ac- 
tivity? 

3.  Have  you  obsei'ved  a  tendency  among  adults  not  to 
take  seriously  the  emotions  of  a  child;  for  example,  to  look 
upon  childish  grief  as  trivial,  or  fear  as  something  to  be 
laughed  at?  Is  the  child's  emotional  life  as  real  as  that  of  the 
adult?     (See  Ch.  IX,  Betts,  "Fathers  and  Mothers.") 

4.  Have  you  known  children  to  repress  their  emotions  for 
fear  of  being  laughed  at?  Have  you  known  parents  or 
others  to  remark  about  childish  love  affairs  to  the  children 


THE  EMOTIONS  253 

themselves  in  a  light  or  joking  way?     Ought  this  ever  to  be 
done? 

5.  Note  certain  children  who  give  way  to  fits  of  anger; 
what  is  the  remedy?  Note  other  children  who  cry  readily; 
what  would  you  suggest  as  a  cure?  (Why  should  ridicule  not 
be  v;sed?) 

6.  Have  you  observed  any  teacher  using  the  lesson  in  liter- 
ature or  history  to  cultivate  the  finer  emotions?  What  emo- 
tions have  you  seen  appealed  to  by  a  lesson  in  nature  study? 
What  emotions  have  you  observed  on  the  playground  that 
needed  restraint?  Do  you  think  that  on  the  whole  the  emo- 
tional life  of  the  child  receives  enough  considei'atiou  in  the 
school?     In  the  home? 


CHAPTER   XVI 

INTEREST 

The  feeling  that  we  call  interest  is  so  important  a  mo- 
tive in  our  lives  and  so  colors  our  acts  and  gives  direction 
to  our  endeavors  that  we  will  do  well  to  devote  a  chap- 
ter to  its  discussion. 

1.     THE  NATUKE  OF  INTEREST 

We  saw  in  an  earlier  chapter  that  personal  habits  have 
their  rise  in  race  habits  or  instincts.  Let  us  now  see 
how  interest  helps  the  individual  to  select  from  his  in- 
stinctive acts  those  which  are  useful  to  build  into  per- 
sonal habits.  Instinct  impartially  starts  the  child  in  the 
performance  of  many  different  activities,  but  does  not 
dictate  what  particular  acts  shall  be  retained  to  serve  as 
the  basis  for  habits.  Interest  comes  in  at  this  point  and 
says,  ' '  This  act  is  of  more  value  than  that  act ;  continue 
this  act  and  drop  that."  Instinct  prompts  the  babe  to 
countless  movements  of  body  and  limb.  Interest  picks 
out  those  that  are  most  vitally  connected  with  the  wel- 
fare of  the  organism,  and  the  child  comes  to  prefer  these 
rather  than  the  others.  Thus  it  is  that  out  of  the  random 
movements  of  arms  and  legs  and  head  and  body  we 
finally  develop  the  coordinated  activities  which  are  in- 
finitely more  useful  than  the  random  ones  were.  And 
these  activities,  originating  in  instincts,  and  selected  by 
interest,  are  soon  crystallized  into  habits. 

254 


INTEREST  255 

Interest  a  Selective  Agent. — The  same  truth  holds  for 
mental  activities  as  for  physical.  A  thousand  channels 
lie  open  for  your  stream  of  thought  at  this  moment,  but 
your  interest  has  beckoned  it  into  the  one  particular 
channel  which,  for  the  time,  at  least,  appears  to  be  of  the 
greatest  subjective  value;  and  it  is  now  following  that 
channel  unless  your  will  has  compelled  it  to  leave  that 
for  another.  Your  thinking  as  naturally  follows  your 
interest  as  the  needle  does  the  magnet,  hence  your 
thought  activities  are  conditioned  largely  by  your  in- 
terests. This  is  equivalent  to  saying  that  your  mental 
habits  rest  back  finally  upon  your  interests. 

Everyone  knows  what  it  is  to  be  interested ;  but  inter- 
est, like  other  elementary  states  of  consciousness,  cannot 
be  rigidly  defined.  (1)  Subjectively  considered,  interest 
may  be  looked  upon  as  a  feeling  attitude  which  assigns 
mir  activities  their  place  in  a  subjective  scale  of  values, 
and  hence  selects  among  them.  (2)  Objectively  consid- 
ered, an  interest  is  the  object  which  calls  forth  the 
feeling.  (3)  Functionally  considered,  interest  is  the 
dynamic  phase  of  consciausness. 

Interest  Supplies  a  Subjective  Scale  of  Values. — If  you 
are  interested  in  driving  a  horse  rather  than  in  riding 
a  bicycle,  it  is  because  the  former  has  a  greater  subjec- 
tive value  to  you  than  the  latter.  If  you  are  interested 
in  reading  these  words  instead  of  thinking  about  the 
next  social  function  or  the  last  picnic  party,  it  is  because 
at  this  moment  the  thought  suggested  appeals  to  you  as 
of  more  value  than  the  other  lines  of  thought.  From 
this  it  follows  that  your  standards  of  values  are  revealed 
in  the  character  of  your  interests.  The  young  man  who 
is  interested  in  the  race  track,  in  gaming,  and  in  low 
resorts  confesses  by  the  fact  that  these  things  occupy 
a  high  place  among  the  things  which  appeal  to  him  a^ 


256  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

subjectively  valuable.  The  mother  whose  interests  are 
chiefly  in  clubs  and  other  social  organizations  places 
these  higher  in  her  scale  of  values  than  her  home.  The 
reader  who  can  become  interested  only  in  light,  trashy 
literature  must  admit  that  matter  of  this  type  ranks 
higher  in  his  subjective  scale  of  values  than  the  works 
of  the  masters.  Teachers  and  students  whose  strongest 
interest  is  in  grade  marks  value  these  more  highly  than 
true  attainment.  For,  whatever  may  be  our  claims  or 
assertions,  interest  is  finally  an  infallible  barometer  of 
the  values  we  assign  to  our  activities. 

In  the  case  of  some  of  our  feelings  it  is  not  always 
possible  to  ascribe  an  objective  side  to  them.  A  feeling 
of  ennui,  of  impending  evil,  or  of  bounding  vivacity, 
may  be  produced  by  an  unanalyzable  complex  of  causes. 
But  interest,  while  it  is  related  primarily  to  the  activi- 
ties of  the  self,  is  carried  over  from  the  activity  to  the 
object  which  occasions  the  activity.  That  is,  interest  has 
both  an  objective  and  a  subjective  side.  On  the  subjec- 
tive side  a  certain  activity  connected  with  self-expression 
is  worth  so  much ;  on  the  objective  side  a  certain  object  is 
worth  so  much  as  related  to  this  self-expression.  Thus 
we  say,  I  have  an  interest  in  books  or  in  business;  my 
daily  activities,  my  self-expression,  are  governed  with 
reference  to  these  objects.    They  are  my  interests. 

Interest  Dynamic. — Many  of  our  milder  feelings  ter- 
minate within  ourselves,  never  attaining  sufficient  force 
as  motives  to  impel  us  to  action.  Not  so  with  interest. 
Its  very  nature  is  dynamic.  Whatever  it  seizes  upon 
becomes  ipso  facto  an  object  for  some  activity,  for  some 
form  of  expression  of  the  self.  Are  we  interested  in 
a  new  book,  we  must  read  it;  in  a  new  invention,  we 
must  see  it,  handle  it,  test  it ;  in  some  vocation  or  avoca- 
tion, we  must  pursue  it.    Interest  is  impulsive.    It  gives 


INTEREST  257 

its  possessor  no  opportunity  for  lethargic  rest  and  quiet, 
but  constantly  urges  him  to  action.  Grown  ardent,  in- 
terest becomes  enthusiasm,  "without  which,"  says  Em- 
erson, "nothing  great  was  ever  accomplished."  Are  we 
an  Edison,  with  a  strong  interest  centered  in  mechan- 
ical invention,  it  will  drive  us  day  and  night  in  a  cease- 
less activity  which  scarcely  gives  us  time  for  food  and 
sleep.  Are  we  a  Lincoln,  with  an  undying  interest  in 
the  Union,  this  motive  will  make  possible  superhuman 
efforts  for  the  accomplishment  of  our  end.  Are  we  man 
or  woman  anywhere,  in  any  walk  of  life,  so  we  are  domi- 
nated by  mighty  interests  grown  into  enthusiasm  for 
some  object,  we  shall  find  gi'cat  purposes  growing  within 
us,  and  our  life  will  be  one  of  activity  and  achievement. 
On  the  contrary,  a  life  which  has  developed  no  great 
interest  lacks  motive  power.  Of  necessity  such  a  life 
must  be  devoid  of  purpose  and  hence  barren  of  results, 
counting  little  while  it  is  being  lived,  and  little  missed 
by  the  world  when  it  is  gone. 

Habit  Antagonistic  to  Interest. — While,  as  we  have 
seen,  interest  is  necessary  to  the  formation  of  habits,  yet 
habits  once  formed  are  antagonistic  to  interest.  That 
is,  acts  which  are  so  habitually  performed  that  they 
"do  themselves"  are  accompanied  by  a  minimum  of 
interest.  They  come  to  be  done  without  attentive  con- 
sciousness, hence  interest  cannot  attach  to  their  per- 
formance. Many  of  the  activities  which  make  up  the 
daily  round  of  our  lives  are  of  this  kind.  As  long  as 
habit  is  being  modified  in  some  degree,  as  long  as  we 
are  improving  in  our  ways  of  doing  things,  interest  will 
still  cling  to  the  process;  but  let  us  once  settle  into  an 
unmodified  rut,  and  interest  quickly  fades  away.  We 
then  have  the  conditions  present  which  make  of  us  either 
a  machine  or  a  drudge. 


258  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

2.     DIEECT  AND  INDIKECT  INTEREST 

We  may  have  an  interest  either  (1)  in  the  doing  of  an 
act,  or  (2)  in  the  end  sought  through  the  doing.  In  the 
first  instance  we  call  the  interest  immediate  or  direct; 
in  the  second  instance,  mediate  or  indirect. 

Interest  in  the  End  versus  Interest  in  the  Activity. — If 
we  do  not  find  an  interest  in  the  doing  of  our  work,  or 
if  it  has  become  positively  disagreeable  so  that  we 
loathe  its  performance,  then  there  must  be  some  ultimate 
end  for  which  the  task  is  being  performed,  and  in  which 
there  is  a  strong  interest,  else  the  whole  process  will  be 
the  veriest  drudgery.  If  the  end  is  sufficiently  interest- 
ing it  may  serve  to  throw  a  halo  of  interest  over  the 
whole  process  connected  with  it.  The  following  instance 
illustrates  this  fact: 

A  twelve-year-old  boy  was  told  by  his  father  that  if 
he  would  make  the  body  of  an  automobile  at  his  bench 
in  the  manual  training  school,  the  father  would  purchase 
the  running  gear  for  it  and  give  the  machine  to  the  boy. 
In  order  to  secure  the  coveted  prize,  the  boy  had  to  mas- 
ter the  arithmetic  necessary  for  making  the  calculations, 
and  the  drawing  necessary  for  making  the  plans  to  scale 
before  the  teacher  in  manual  training  would  allow  him  to 
take  up  the  work  of  construction.  The  boy  had  always 
lacked  interest  in  both  arithmetic  and  drawing,  and  con- 
sequently was  dull  in  them.  Under  the  new  incentive, 
however,  he  took  hold  of  them  with  such  avidity  that  he 
soon  surpassed  all  the  remainder  of  the  class,  and  was 
able  to  make  his  calculations  and  drawings  within  a 
term.  He  secured  his  automobile  a  few  months  later, 
and  still  retained  his  interest  in  arithmetic  and  drawing. 

Indirect  Interest  as  a  Motive. — Interest  of  the  indirect 
type,  which  does  not  attach  to  the  process,  but  conies 


INTEREST  269 

from  some  more  or  less  distant  end,  most  of  us  find  much 
less  potent  than  interest  which  is  immediate.  Tliis  is 
especially  true  unless  the  end  be  one  of  intense  desire 
and  not  too  distant.  The  assurance  to  a  boy  that  he 
must  get  his  lessons  well  because  he  will  need  to  be  an 
educated  man  ten  years  hence  when  he  goes  into  busi- 
ness for  himself  does  not  compensate  for  the  lack  of  in- 
terest in  the  lessons  of  today. 

Yet  it  is  necessary  in  the  economy  of  life  that  both 
children  and  adults  should  learn  to  work  under  the  in- 
citement of  indirect  interests,  IVIuch  of  the  work  we 
do  is  for  an  end  which  is  more  desirable  than  the  work 
itself.  It  will  always  be  necessary  to  sacrifice  present 
pleasure  for  future  good.  Ability  to  work  cheerfully 
for  a  somewhat  distant  end  saves  much  of  our  work  from 
becoming  drudgery.  If  interest  is  removed  from  both 
the  process  and  the  end,  no  inducement  is  left  to  work 
except  compulsion;  and  this,  if  continued,  results  in 
the  lowest  type  of  effort.  It  puts  a  man  on  a  level  with 
the  beast  of  burden,  which  constantly  shirks  its  work. 

Indirect  Interest  Alone  Insufficient. — Interest  coming 
from  an  end  instead  of  inhering  in  the  process  may 
finally  lead  to  an  interest  in  the  work  itself;  but  if  it  does 
not,  the  worker  is  in  danger  of  being  left  a  dnidge  at 
last.  To  be  more  than  a  slave  to  his  work  one  must 
ultimately  find  the  work  worth  doing  for  its  own  sake. 
The  man  who  performs  his  work  solely  because  he  has 
a  wife  and  babies  at  home  will  never  be  an  artist  in  his 
trade  or  profession;  the  student  who  masters  a  subject 
only  because  he  must  know  it  for  an  examination  is  not 
developing  the  traits  of  a  scholar.  The  question  of  in- 
terest in  the  process  makes  the  difference  between  the 
one  who  works  because  he  loves  to  work  and  the  one  who 
toils  because  he  must— it  makes  the  difference  between 


260  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

the  artist  and  the  drudge.  The  drudge  does  only  what 
he  must  when  he  works,  the  artist  all  he  can.  The 
drudge  longs  for  the  end  of  labor,  the  artist  for  it  to  be- 
gin. The  drudge  studies  how  he  may  escape  his  labor, 
the  artist  how  he  may  better  his  and  ennoble  it. 

To  labor  when  there  is  joy  in  the  work  is  elevating,  to 
labor  under  the  lash  of  compulsion  is  degrading.  It  mat- 
ters not  so  much  what  a  man's  occupation  as  how  it  is 
performed.  A  coachman  driving  his  team  down  the 
crowded  street  better  than  anyone  else  could  do  it,  and 
glorying  in  that  fact,  may  be  a  true  artist  in  his  occu- 
pation, and  be  ennobled  through  his  work.  A  states- 
man molding  the  affairs  of  a  nation  as  no  one  else  could 
do  it,  or  a  scholar  leading  the  thought  of  his  generation 
is  subject  to  the  same  law ;  in  order  to  give  the  best  grade 
of  service  of  which  he  is  capable,  man  must  find  a  joy 
in  the  performance  of  the  work  as  well  as  in  the  end 
sought  through  its  performance.  No  matter  how  high 
the  position  or  how  refined  the  work,  the  worker  becomes 
a  slave  to  his  labor  unless  interest  in  its  performance 
saves  him. 


3.  TEANSITORINESS  OF  CERTAIN  INTERESTS 

Since  our  interests  are  always  connected  with  our  ac- 
tivities it  follows  that  many  interests  will  have  their 
birth,  grow  to  full  strength,  and  then  fade  away  as  the 
corresponding  instincts  which  are  responsible  for  the  ac- 
tivities pass  through  these  same  stages.  This  only  means 
that  interest  in  play  develops  at  the  time  when  the  play 
activities  are  seeking  expression;  that  interest  in  the 
opposite  sex  becomes  strong  when  instinctive  tendencies 
are  directing  the  attention  to  the  choice  of  a  mate;  and 
that  interest  in  abstract  studies  comes  when  the  develop- 


INTEREST  261 

ment  of  the  brain  enables  us  to  carry  on  logical  trains  of 
thought.  All  of  us  can  recall  many  interests  which 
were  once  strong,  and  are  now  weak  or  else  have  alto- 
gether passed  away.  Hide-and-seek,  Pussy-wants-a-cor- 
ner,  excursions  to  the  little  fishing  pond,  securing  the 
colored  chromo  at  school,  the  care  of  pets,  reading  blood- 
and-thunder  stories  or  sentimental  ones — interest  in 
these  things  belongs  to  our  past,  or  has  left  but  a  faint 
shadow.  Other  interests  have  come,  and  these  in  turn 
will  also  disappear  and  other  new  ones  yet  appear  as 
long  as  we  keep  on  acquiring  new  experience. 

Interests  Must  Be  XTtilized  When  They  Appear.— This 
means  that  we  must  take  advantage  of  mterests  when 
they  appear  if  we  wish  to  utilize  and  develop  them. 
How  many  people  there  are  who  at  one  time  felt  an  in- 
terest impelling  them  to  cultivate  their  taste  for  music, 
art,  or  literature  and  said  they  would  do  this  at  some 
convenient  season,  and  finally  found  themselves  without 
a  taste  for  these  things !  How  many  of  us  have  felt  an 
interest  in  some  benevolent  work,  but  at  last  discovered 
that  our  inclination  had  died  before  we  found  time  to 
help  the  cause !  How  many  of  us,  young  as  we  are,  do 
not  at  this  moment  lament  the  passing  of  some  interest 
from  our  lives,  or  are  now  watching  the  dying  of  some 
interest  which  we  had  fondly  supposed  was  as  stable 
as  Gibraltar?  The  drawings  of  every  interest  which 
appeals  to  us  is  a  voice  crying,  "Now  is  the  appointed 
time ! ' '  What  impulse  urges  us  today  to  become  or  to  do, 
we  must  begin  at  once  to  be  or  perform,  if  we  would 
attain  to  the  coveted  end. 

The  Value  of  a  Strong  Interest.— Nor  are  we  to  look 
upon  these  transitory  interests  as  useless.  They  come 
to  us  not  only  as  a  race  heritage,  but  they  impel  us  to 
activities  which  are  immediately  useful,  or  else  prepare 


262  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

us  for  the  later  battles  of  life.  But  even  aside  from 
this  important  fact  it  is  worth  everything  just  to  be  in- 
terested. For  it  is  only  through  the  impulsion  of  in- 
terest that  we  first  learn  to  put  forth  effort  in  any  true 
sense  of  the  word,  and  interest  furnishes  the  final  foun- 
dation upon  which  volition  rests.  Without  interest  the 
greatest  powers  may  slumber  in  us  unawakened,  and 
abilities  capable  of  the  highest  attainment  rest  satisfied 
with  commonplace  mediocrity.  No  one  will  ever  know 
how  many  Gladstones  and  Leibnitzes  the  world  has  lost 
simply  because  their  interests  were  never  appealed  to 
in  such  a  way  as  to  start  them  on  the  road  to  achieve- 
ment. It  matters  less  what  the  interest  be,  so  it  be  not 
bad,  than  that  there  shall  be  some  great  interest  to 
compel  endeavor,  test  the  strength  of  endurance,  and 
lead  to  habits  of  achievement. 

4.     SELECTION  AMONG  OUR  INTERESTS 

I  said  early  in  the  discussion  that  interest  is  selective 
among  our  activities,  picking  out  those  which  appear 
to  be  of  the  most  value  to  us.  In  the  same  manner  there 
must  be  a  selection  among  our  interests  themselves. 

The  Mistake  of  Following  Too  Many  Interests. — It  is 
possible  for  us  to  become  interested  in  so  manj^  lines  of 
activity  that  we  do  none  of  them  well.  This  leads  to  a 
life  so  full  of  hurry  and  stress  that  we  forget  life  in  our 
busy  living.  Says  James  with  respect  to  the  necessity 
of  making  a  choice  among  our  interests: 

"With  most  objects  of  desire,  physical  nature  re- 
stricts our  choice  to  but  one  of  many  represented  goods, 
and  even  so  it  is  here.  I  am  often  confronted  by  the 
necessity  of  standing  by  one  of  my  empirical  selves  and 
relinquishing  the  rest.    Not  that  I  would  not,  if  I  could, 


INTEREST  263 

be  both  handsome  and  fat,  and  well  dressed,  and  a  great 
athlete,  and  make  a  million  a  year;  be  a  wit,  a  bon  vi- 
vant,  and  a  lady-killer,  as  well  as  a  philosopher;  a  phi- 
lanthropist, statesman,  warrior,  and  African  explorer,  as 
well  as  a  'tone  poet'  and  saint.  But  the  thing  is  sim- 
ply impossible.  The  millionaire's  work  would  run  coun- 
ter to  the  saint's;  the  bon  vivant  and  the  philosopher 
and  the  lady-killer  could  not  well  keep  house  in  the  same 
tenement  of  clay.  Such  different  characters  may  con- 
ceivably at  the  outset  of  life  be  alike  possible  to  man. 
But  to  make  any  one  of  them  actual,  the  rest  must  more 
or  less  be  suppressed.  The  seeker  of  his  truest,  strong- 
est, deepest  self  must  review  the  list  carefully,  and  pick 
out  the  one  on  which  to  stake  his  salvation." 

Interests  May  Be  Too  Narrow. — On  the  other  hand,  it 
is  just  as  possible  for  our  interests  to  be  too  narrow 
as  too  broad.  The  one  who  has  cultivated  no  interests 
outside  of  his  daily  round  of  humdrum  activities  does 
not  get  enough  out  of  life.  It  is  possible  to  become  so 
engrossed  with  making  a  living  that  we  forget  to  live — to 
become  so  habituated  to  some  narrow  treadmill  of  labor 
with  the  limited  field  of  thought  suggested  by  its  en- 
vironment, that  we  miss  the  richest  experiences  of  life. 
Many  there  are  who  live  a  barren,  trivial,  and  self -cen- 
tered life  because  they  fail  to  see  the  significant  and  the 
beautiful  which  lie  just  beyond  where  their  interests 
reach !  Many  there  are  so  taken  up  with  their  own  petty 
troubles  that  they  have  no  heart  or  sympathy  for  fel- 
low humanity !  Many  there  are  so  absorbed  with  their 
own  little  achievements  that  they  fail  to  catch  step 
with  the  progress  of  the  age ! 

Specialization  Should  Not  Come  Too  Eaxly.— It  is  not 
well  to  specialize  too  early  in  our  interests.  We  miss 
too  many  rich  fields  which  lie  ready  for  the  liarvesting, 


264  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

and  whose  gleaning  would  enrich  our  lives.  The  student 
who  is  so  buried  in  books  that  he  has  no  time  for  ath- 
letic recreations  or  social  diversions  is  making  a  mistake 
equally  with  the  one  who  is  so  enthusiastic  an  athlete  and 
social  devotee  that  he  neglects  his  studies.  Likewise, 
the  youth  who  is  so  taken  up  with  the  study  of  one  par- 
ticular line  that  he  applies  himself  to  this  at  the  ex- 
pense of  all  other  lines  is  inviting  a  distorted  growth. 
Youth  is  the  time  for  pushing  the  sky  line  back  on  all 
sides;  it  is  the  time  for  cultivating  diverse  and  varied 
lines  of  interests  if  we  would  grow  into  a  rich  experience 
in  our  later  lives.  The  physical  must  be  developed,  but 
not  at  the  expense  of  the  mental,  and  vice  versa.  The 
social  must  not  be  neglected,  but  it  must  not  be  indulged 
to  such  an  extent  that  other  interests  suffer.  Interest  ia 
amusements  and  recreations  should  be  cultivated,  but 
these  should  never  run  counter  to  the  moral  and  re- 
ligious. 

Specialization  is  necessary,  but  specialization  in  our 
interests  should  rest  upon  a  broad  field  of  fundamental 
interests,  in  order  that  the  selection  of  the  special  line 
may  be  an  intelligent  one,  and  that  o^^r  specialty  shall 
not  prove  a  rut  in  which  we  become  so  deeply  buried  that 
we  are  lost  to  the  best  in  life. 

A  Proper  Balance  to  Be  Sought. — It  behooves  us,  then, 
to  find  a  proper  balance  in  cultivating  our  interests, 
making  them  neither  too  broad  nor  too  narrow.  "We 
should  deliberately  seek  to  discover  those  which  are 
strong  enough  to  pomt  the  way  to  a  life  vocation,  but 
this  should  not  be  done  until  we  have  had  an  oppor- 
tunity to  become  acquainted  with  various  lines  of  inter- 
ests. Otherwise  our  decision  in  this  important  matter 
may  be  based  merely  on  a  whim. 

We  should  also  decide  what  interests  we  should  culti- 


INTEREST  265 

vate  for  our  own  personal  development  and  happiness, 
and  for  the  service  we  are  to  render  in  a  sphere  outside 
our  immediate  vocation.  We  should  consider  avocations 
as  well  as  vocations.  AA^hatever  interests  are  selected 
should  be  carried  to  efficiency.  Better  a  reasonable 
number  of  carefully  selected  interests  well  developed 
and  resulting  in  efficiency  than  a  multitude  of  interests 
which,  lead  us  into  so  many  fields  that  we  can  at  best  get 
but  a  smattering  of  each,  and  that  by  neglecting  the 
things  which  should  mean  the  most  to  us.  Our  interests 
should  lead  us  to  live  what  Wagner  calls  a  ' '  simple  life, ' ' 
but  not  a  narrow  one. 

5.     INTEEEST  FUNDAMENTAL  IN  EDUCATION 

Some  educators  have  feared  that  in  finding  our 
occupations  interesting,  we  shall  lose  all  power  of  ef- 
fort and  self-direction;  tliat  the  will,  not  being  called 
sufficiently  into  requisition,  must  suffer  from  non-use; 
that  we  shall  come  to  do  the  interesting  and  agree- 
able things  well  enough,  but  fail  before  the  disagree- 
able. 

Interest  Not  Antagonistic  to  Effort.— The  best  develop- 
ment of  the  will  does  not  come  through  our  being  forced 
to  do  acts  in  which  there  is  absolutely  no  interest.  Work 
done  under  compulsion  never  secures  the  full  self  in  its 
performance.  It  is  done  mechanically  and  usually  under 
sucb  a  spirit  of  rebellion  on  the  part  of  the  doer,  that 
the  advantage  of  such  training  may  well  be  doubted. 
Nor  are  we  safe  in  assuming  that  tasks  done  without  in- 
terest as  the  motive  are  always  performed  under  the 
direction  of  the  will.  It  is  far  more  likely  that  they 
are  done  under  some  external  compulsion,  and  that  the 
will  has,  after  aU,  but  very  little  to  do  with  it.    A  boy 


266  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

may  get  an  uninteresting  lesson  at  school  without  much 
pressure  from  his  will,  providing  he  is  sufficiently  afraid 
of  the  master.  In  order  that  the  will  may  receive  train- 
ing through  compelling  the  performance  of  certain  acts, 
it  must  have  a  reasonably  free  field,  with  external  pres- 
sure removed.  The  compelling  force  must  come  from 
within,  and  not  from  without. 

On  the  other  hand,  there  is  not  the  least  danger  that 
we  shall  ever  find  a  place  in  life  where  all  the  disagree- 
able is  removed,  and  all  phases  of  our  work  made  smooth 
and  interesting.  The  necessity  will  always  be  rising  to 
call  upon  effort  to  take  up  the  fight  and  hold  us  to  duty 
where  interest  has  failed.  And  it  is  just  here  that  there 
must  be  no  failure,  else  we  shall  be  mere  creatures  of  cir- 
cumstance, drifting  with  every  eddy  in  the  tide  of  our 
life,  and  never  able  to  breast  the  current.  Interest  is  not 
to  supplant  the  necessity  for  stern  and  strenuous  en- 
deavor but  rather  to  call  forth  the  largest  measure  of 
endeavor  of  which  the  self  is  capable.  It  is  to  put  at 
work  a  larger  amount  of  power  than  can  be  secured  in 
any  other  way ;  in  place  of  supplanting  the  will,  it  is  to 
give  it  its  point  of  departure  and  render  its  service  all 
the  more  effective. 

Interest  and  Character. — Finally,  we  are  not  to  forget 
that  bad  interests  have  the  same  propulsive  power  as 
.good  ones,  and  wiU  lead  to  acts  just  as  surely.  And 
these  acts  will  just  as  readily  be  formed  into  habits.  It 
is  worth  noticing  that  back  of  the  act  lies  an  interest; 
in  the  act  lies  the  seed  of  a  habit ;  ahead  of  the  act  lies 
beliavior,  which  grows  into  conduct,  this  into  character, 
and  character  into  destiny.  Bad  interests  should  be 
shunned  and  discouraged.  But  even  that  is  not  enough. 
Good  interests  must  be  installed  in  the  place  of  the  bad 
ones  from  which  we  wish  to  escape,  for  it  is  through. 


INTEREST  267 

substitution  rather  than  suppression  tliat  we  arc  able 
to  break  from  the  bad  and  adhere  to  the  good. 

Our  interests  are  an  evolution.  Out  of  the  simple  in- 
terests of  the  child  grow  the  more  complex  interests  of 
the  man.  Lacking  the  opportunity  to  develop  the  inter- 
ests of  childhood,  the  man  will  come  somewhat  short  of 
the  full  interests  of  manhood.  The  great  thing,  then, 
in  educating  a  child  is  to  discover  the  fundamental  in- 
terests w^hich  come  to  him  from  the  race  and,  using  these 
as  a  starting  point,  direct  them  into  constantly  broaden- 
ing and  more  serviceable  ones.  Out  of  the  early  interest 
in  play  is  to  come  the  later  interest  in  work ;  out  of  the 
early  interest  in  collecting  treasure  boxes  full  of  worth- 
less trinkets  and  old  scraps  comes  the  later  interest  in 
earning  and  retaining  ownership  of  property;  out  of 
the  interest  in  chums  and  playmates  come  the  larger 
social  interests;  out  of  interest  in  nature  comes  the  in- 
terest of  the  naturalist.  And  so  one  by  one  we  may  ex- 
amine the  interests  which  bear  the  largest  fruit  in  our 
adult  life,  and  we  find  that  they  all  have  their  roots  in 
some  early  interest  of  childhood,  which  was  encouraged 
and  given  a  chance  to  grow. 

6.     OEDER  OF  DEVELOPMENT  OF  OUR  INTERESTS 

The  order  in  which  our  interests  develop  thus  becomes 
an  important  question  in  our  education.  Nor  is  the  order 
an  arbitrary  one,  as  might  appear  on  first  thought ;  for 
interest  follows  the  invariable  law  of  attaching  to  the 
activity  for  which  the  organism  is  at  tliat  time  ready, 
and  which  it  then  needs  in  its  further  growth.  That  we 
are  sometimes  interested  in  harmful  things  does  not  dis- 
prove this  assertion.  The  interest  in  its  fundamental  as- 
pect is  good,  and  but  needs  more  healthful  environment 


268  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

or  more  wise  direction.  While  space  forbids  a  full  dis- 
cussion of  the  genetic  phase  of  interest  here,  yet  we  may 
profit  by  a  brief  statement  of  the  fundamental  interests 
of  certain  well-marked  periods  in  our  development. 

The  Interests  of  Early  Childhood, — The  interests  of 
early  childhood  are  chiefly  connected  with  ministering 
to  the  wants  of  the  organism  as  expressed  in  the  appe- 
tites, and  in  securing  control  of  the  larger  muscles.  Ac- 
tivity is  the  preeminent  thing — racing  and  romping  are 
worth  doing  for  their  own  sake  alone.  Imitation  is 
strong,  curiosity  is  rising,  and  imagination  is  building 
a  new  world.  Speech  is  a  joy,  language  is  learned  with 
ease,  and  rhyme  and  rhythm  become  second  nature.  The 
interests  of  this  stage  are  still  very  direct  and  immedi- 
ate. A  distant  end  does  not  attract.  The  thing  must 
be  worth  doing  for  the  sake  of  the  doing.  Since  the 
young  child's  life  is  so  full  of  action,  and  since  it  is  out 
of  acts  that  habits  grow,  it  is  doubly  desirous  during  this 
period  that  environment,  models,  and  teaching  should  all 
direct  his  interests  and  activities  into  lines  that  will  lead 
to  permanent  values. 

The  Interests  of  Later  Childhood. — In  the  period  from 
second  dentition  to  puberty  there  is  a  great  widening  in 
the  scope  of  interests,  as  well  as  a  noticeable  change  in 
their  character.  Activity  is  still  the  keynote;  but  the 
child  is  no  longer  interested  merely  in  the  doing,  but  is 
now  able  to  look  forward  to  the  end  sought.  Interests 
which  are  somewhat  indirect  now  appeal  to  him,  and 
the  how  of  things  attracts  his  attention.  He  is  beginning 
to  reach  outside  of  his  own  little  circle,  and  is  ready 
for  handicraft,  reading,  history,  and  science.  Spelling, 
writing,  and  arithmetic  interest  him  partly  from  the  ac- 
tivities involved,  but  more  as  a  means  to  an  end. 

Interest  in  complex  games  and  plays  increases,  but  the 


INTEREST  269 

child  is  not  yet  ready  for  games  which  require  team 
work.  He  has  not  come  to  the  point  where  he  is  willing 
to  sacrifice  himself  for  the  good  of  all.  Interest  in  moral 
questions  is  beginning,  and  right  and  wrong  are  no 
longer  things  which  may  or  may  not  be  done  without  re- 
buke or  punishment.  The  great  problem  at  this  stage  is 
to  direct  the  interest  into  ways  of  adapting  the  means 
to  ends  and  into  willingness  to  work  under  voluntary  at- 
tention for  the  accomplishment  of  the  desired  end. 

The  Interests  of  Adolescence. — Finally,  with  the  advent 
of  puberty,  comes  the  last  stage  in  the  development  of 
interests  before  adult  life.  This  period  is  not  marked  by 
the  birth  of  new  interests  so  much  as  by  a  deepening  and 
broadening  of  those  already  begun.  The  end  sought  be- 
comes an  increasingly  larger  factor,  whether  in  play  or 
in  work.  Mere  activity  itself  no  longer  satisfies.  The 
youth  can  now  play  team  games ;  for  liis  social  interests 
are  taking  shape,  and  he  can  subordinate  himself  for  the 
good  of  the  group.  Interest  in  the  opposite  sex  takes  on 
a  new  phase,  and  social  form  and  mode  of  dress  receive 
attention.  A  new  consciousness  of  self  emerges,  and  the 
youth  becomes  introspective.  Questions  of  the  ultimate 
meaning  of  things  press  for  solution,  and  what  and  who 
am  I,  demands  an  answer. 

At  this  age  we  pass  from  a  regime  of  obedience  to  one 
of  self-control,  from  an  ethics  of  authority  to  one  of 
individualism.  All  the  interests  are  now  taking  on  a 
more  definite  and  stable  form,  and  are  looking  seriously 
toward  life  vocations.  This  is  a  time  of  big  plans  and 
strenuous  activity.  It  is  a  crucial  period  in  oar  life, 
fraught  with  pitfalls  and  dangers,  with  privileges  and 
opportunities.  At  this  strategic  point  in  our  life's  voy- 
age we  may  anchor  ourselves  with  right  interests  to  a 
^afe  manhood  and  a  successful  career;  or  we  may,  with 


270  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

wrong  interests,  bind  ourselves  to  a  broken  life  of  dis- 
couragement and  defeat. 

7.  PEOBLEMS  IN  OBSEEVATION  AND  INTROSPECTION 

1.  Try  making  a  list  of  your  most  important  interests  in 
order  of  their  strength.  Suppose  you  had  made  such  a  list 
five  years  ago,  where  would  it  have  differed  from  the  present 
list?  Are  you  ever  obliged  to  perform  any  activities  in 
which  you  have  little  or  no  interest,  either  directly  or  indi- 
rectly? Can  you  name  any  activities  in  which  you  once  had 
a  strong  interest  but  which  you  now  perform  chiefly  from 
force  of  habit  and  without  much  interest? 

2.  Have  you  any  interests  of  which  you  are  not  proud? 
On  the  other  hand,  do  you  lack  certain  interests  which  you 
feel  that  you  should  possess?  What  interests  are  you  now 
trying  especially  to  cultivate?  To  suppress?  Have  you  as 
broad  a  field  of  interests  as  you  can  well  take  care  of?  Have 
you  so  many  interests  that  you  are  slighting  the  development 
of  some  of  the  more  important  ones? 

3.  Observe  several  recitations  for  differences  in  the  amount 
of  interest  shown.  Account  for  these  differences.  Have  you 
ever  observed  an  enthusiastic  teacher  with  an  iminterested 
class?    A  dull,  listless  teacher  with  an  interested  class? 

4.  A  father  offers  his  son  a  dollar  for  every  grade  on  his 
term  report  which  is  above  ninety;  what  type  of  interest  rela- 
tive to  studies  does  this  appeal  to?  What  do  you  think  of  the 
advisability  of  giving  prizes  in  connection  with  school  work? 

5.  Most  children  in  the  elementary  school  are  not  inter- 
ested in  technical  grammar;  why  not?  Histories  made  up 
chiefly  of  dates  and  lists  of  kings  or  presidents  are  not  inter- 
esting; what  is  the  remedy?  Would  you  call  any  teaching  of 
literature,  histoiy,  geography,  or  science  successful  which  fails 
to  develop  an  interest  in  the  subject? 

6.  After  careful  observation,  make  a  statement  of  the  dif- 
ferences in  the  typical  play  interests  of  boys  and  girls;  of 
children  of  the  third  grade  and  the  eighth  grade. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

THE  WILL 

The  fundamental  fact  in  all  ranges  of  life  from  the 
lowest  to  the  highest  is  activity,  doing.  Every  individ- 
ual, either  animal  or  man,  is  constantly  meeting  situa- 
tions which  demand  response.  In  the  lower  forms  of  life, 
this  response  is  very  simple,  while  in  the  higher  forms, 
and  especially  in  man,  it  is  very  complex.  The  bird  sees 
a  nook  favorable  for  a  nest,  and  at  once  appropriates  it ; 
a  man  sees  a  house  that  strikes  his  fancy,  and  works  and 
plans  and  saves  for  months  to  secure  money  with  which 
to  buy  it.  It  is  evident  that  the  larger  the  possible 
number  of  responses,  and  the  greater  their  diversity  and 
complexity,  the  more  difficult  it  will  be  to  select  and  com- 
pel the  right  response  to  any  given  situation.  Man 
therefore  needs  some  special  power  of  control  over  his 
acts — ^he  requires  a  will. 

1.     THE  NATURE  OF  THE  WILL 

There  has  been  much  discussion  and  not  a  little  con- 
troversy as  to  the  true  nature  of  the  will.  Just  what  is 
the  will,  and  what  is  the  content  of  our  mental  stream 
when  we  are  in  the  act  of  willing?  Is  there  at  such  times 
a  new  and  distinctly  different  content  which  we  do  not 
find  in  our  processes  of  knowledge  or  emotion— such  as 
perception,  memory,  judgment,  interest,  desire?  Or  do 
we  find,  when  we  are  engaged  in  an  act  of  the  will,  that 

271 


272  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

the  mental  stream  contains  only  the  familiar  old  ele- 
ments of  attention,  perception,  judgment,  desire,  pur- 
pose, etc.,  all  organized  or  set  for  the  purpose  of  accom- 
pli^shing  or  preventing  some  act"? 

The  Content  of  the  Will. — We  shall  not  attempt  here 
to  settle  the  controversy  suggested  by  the  foregoing  ques- 
tions, nor,  for  immediately  practical  purposes,  do  we 
need  to  settle  it.  It  is  perhaps  safe  to  say,  however,  that 
whenever  we  are  willing  the  mental  content  consists  of 
elements  of  cognition  and  feeling  plus  a  distinct  sense 
of  effort,  with  which  everyone  is  familiar.  Whether  this 
sense  of  effort  is  a  new  and  different  element,  or  only  a 
complex  of  old  and  familiar  mental  processes,  we  need 
not  now  decide. 

The  Function  of  the  Will. — Concerning  the  function  of 
the  will  there  can  be  no  haziness  or  doubt.  Volition 
concerns  itself  wholly  with  acts,  responses.  The  will  al- 
ways has  to  do  with  causing  or  inhibiting  some  action, 
either  physical  or  mental.  We  need  to  go  to  the  dentist, 
tell  some  friend  we  were  in  the  wrong,  hold  our  mind  to 
a  difficult  or  uninteresting  task,  or  do  some  other  dis- 
agi'eeable  thing  from  which  we  shirk.  It  is  at  such 
points  that  we  must  call  upon  the  will. 

Again,  we  must  restrain  our  tongue  from  speaking 
the  unkind  word,  keep  from  crying  out  when  the  dentist 
drills  the  tooth,  check  some  unworthy  line  of  thought. 
We  must  here  also  appeal  to  the  will.  We  may  conclude 
then  that  the  will  is  needed  whenever  the  physical  or 
mental  activity  must  be  controlled  with  effort.  Some 
writers  have  called  the  work  of  the  will  in  compelling 
action  its  positive  function,  and  in  inhibiting  action  its 
negative  fuiiciion. 

How  the  Will  Exerts  Its  Compulsion. — IIow  does  the 
will  bring  its  compulsion  to  bear?     It  is  not  a  kind  of 


THE  WILL  273 

mental  policeman  who  can  take  us  by  the  collar,  so  to 
speak,  and  say  do  this,  or  do  not  do  that.  The  secret  of 
the  will's  power  of  control  lies  in  attention.  It  is  the 
line  of  action  that  we  hold  the  mind  upon  with  an  atti- 
tude of  intending  to  perform  it  that  we  finally  follow. 
It  is  the  thing  we  keep  thinking  about  that  we  finally  do. 
On  the  other  hand,  let  us  resolutely  hold  the  mind 
away  from  some  attractive  but  unsuitable  line  of  action, 
directing  our  thoughts  to  an  opposite  course,  or  to  some 
wholly  different  subject,  and  we  have  effectually  blocked 
the  wrong  response.  To  control  our  acts  is  therefore  to 
control  our  thoughts,  and  strength  of  will  can  be  meas- 
ured by  our  ability  to  direct  our  attention. 


2.    THE  EXTENT  OF  VOLUNTARY  CONTROL  OVER  OUB 

ACTS 

A  relatively  small  proportion  of  our  acts,  or  re- 
sponses, are  controlled  by  volition.  Nature,  in  her  wise 
economy,  has  provided  a  simpler  and  easier  method  than 
to  have  all  our  actions  performed  or  checked  with  con- 
scious effort. 

Classes  of  Acts  or  Response. — Movements  or  acts,  like 
other  phenomena,  do  not  just  happen.  They  never  oc- 
cur without  a  cause  back  of  them.  Whether  they  are 
performed  with  a  conscious  end  in  view  or  without  it, 
the  fact  remains  the  same — something  must  lie  back  of 
the  act  to  account  for  its  performance.  During  the 
last  hour,  each  of  us  has  performed  many  simple  move- 
ments and  more  or  less  complex  acts.  These  acts  have 
varied  gi'eatly  in  character.  Of  many  we  were  wholly 
unconscious.  Others  were  consciously  pfrfornied,  but 
without  feeling  of  effort  on  our  part.  Still  otiiers  wore 
accomplished  only  with  effort,  and  after  a  struggle  to 


274  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

decide  which  of  two  lines  of  action  we  shonld  take. 
Some  of  our  acts  were  reflex,  some  were  chiefly  instinc- 
tive, and  some  were  volitional. 

Simple  Reflex  Acts. — First,  there  are  going  on  within 
every  living  organism  countless  movements  of  which  he 
is  in  large  part  unconscious,  which  he  does  nothing  to 
initiate,  and  which  he  is  largely  powerless  to  prevent. 
Some  of  them  are  wholly,  and  others  almost,  out  of  the 
reach  and  power  of  his  will.  Such  are  the  movements 
of  the  heart  and  vascular  system,  the  action  of  the  lungs 
in  breathing,  the  movements  of  the  digestive  tract,  the 
work  of  the  various  glands  in  their  process  of  secretion. 
The  entire  organism  is  a  mass  of  living  matter,  and 
just  because  it  is  living  no  part  of  it  is  at  rest. 

Movements  of  this  type  require  no  external  stimulus 
and  no  direction,  they  are  reflex;  they  take  care  of  them- 
selves, as  long  as  the  body  is  in  health,  without  let 
or  hindrance,  continuing  whether  we  sleep  or  wake, 
even  if  we  are  in  hypnotic  or  anaesthetic  coma.  With 
movements  of  reflex  type  we  shall  have  no  more  con- 
cern, since  they  are  almost  wholly  physiological,  and 
come  scarcely  at  all  within  the  range  of  the  conscious- 
ness. 

Instinctive  Acts. — Next  there  are  a  large  number  of 
such  acts  as  closing  the  eyes  when  they  are  threatened, 
starting  back  from  danger,  crying  out  from  pain  or 
alarm,  frowning  and  striking  when  angry.  These  may 
roughly  be  classed  as  instinctive,  and  have  already  been 
discussed  under  that  head.  They  differ  from  the  former 
class  in  that  they  require  some  stimulus  to  set  the  act 
off.  We  are  fully  conscious  of  their  performance,  al- 
though they  are  performed  without  a  conscious  end  in 
view.  Winking  the  eyes  serves  an  important  purpose, 
but  that  is  not  why  we  wink ;  starting  back  from  danger 


THE  WILL  275 

is  a  wise  thing  to  do,  but  we  do  not  stop  to  consider  this 
before  performing  the  act. 

And  so  it  is  with  a  multitude  of  reflex  and  instinctive 
acts.  They  are  performed  immediately  upon  receiving 
an  appropriate  stimulus,  because  we  possess  an  organism 
calculated  to  act  in  a  definite  way  in  response  to  certain 
stimuli.  There  is  no  need  for,  and  indeed  no  place  for, 
anything  to  come  in  between  the  stimulus  and  the  act. 
The  stimulus  pulls  the  trigger  of  the  ready-set  nervous 
system,  and  the  act  follows  at  once.  Acts  of  these  reflex 
and  instinctive  types  do  not  come  properly  within  the 
range  of  volition,  hence  we  will  not  consider  them  fur- 
ther. 

Automatic  or  Spontaneous  Acts. — Growing  out  of  these 
reflex  and  instinctive  acts  is  a  broad  field  of  action  which 
may  be  called  automatic  or  spontaneous.  The  distin- 
guishing feature  of  this  type  of  action  is  that  all  sucli 
acts,  though  performed  now  largely  without  conscious 
purpose  or  intent,  were  at  one  time  purposed  acts,  per- 
formed with  effort;  this  is  to  say  that  they  were  voli- 
tional. Such  acts  as  writing,  or  fingering  the  keyboard 
of  a  piano,  were  once  consciously  purposed,  volitional 
acts  selected  from  many  random  or  reflex  movements. 

The  effects  of  experience  and  habit  are  such,  however, 
that  soon  the  mere  presence  of  pencil  and  paptT.  or  the 
sight  of  the  keyboard,  is  enough  to  set  one  scribbling  or 
playing.  Stated  differently,  certain  objects  and  situa- 
tions come  to  suggest  certain  characteristic  acts  or  re- 
sponses so  strongly  that  the  action  follows  immediately 
on  the  heels  of  the  percept  of  the  object,  or  the  idea  of 
the  act.  James  calls  such  action  ideo-motor.  -Many  il- 
lustrations of  this  type  of  acts  will  occur  to  each  of  us: 
A  door  starts  to  blow  shut,  and  we  spring  up  and  avert 
the  slam.    The  memory  of  a  neglected  engagement  comes 


276  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

to  us,  and  we  have  started  to  our  feet  on  the  instant. 
A  dish  of  nuts  stands  before  us,  and  we  find  ourselves 
nibbling  without  intending  to  do  so. 

The   Cycle   from   Volitional    to   Automatic. — It   is   of 
-course  evident  that  no  such  acts,  though  they  were  at  one 


Fig.  19. — Star  for  mirror  drawing.  The  mirror  breaks  up  the  auto- 
matic control  previously  developed,  and  requires  one  to  start  out 
much  as  the  child  does  at  the  beginning.     See  text  for  directions. 

time  in  our  experience  volitional,  now  require  effort  or 
definite  intention  for  their  performance.  The  law  cov- 
ering this  point  may  be  stated  as  follows:  All  voli- 
tional acts,  when  repeated,  tend,  through  the  effects  of 
habit,  to  become  automatic,  and  thus  relieve  the  will 
from  the  necessity  of  directing  them. 

To  illustrate  this  law  try  the  following  experiment: 


THE  WILL  277 

Draw  on  a  piece  of  cardboard  a  star,  like  figure  1 0,  mak- 
ing each  line  segment  two  inches.  Seat  yourself  at  a 
table  with  the  star  before  you,  placing  a  mirror  back  of 
the  star  so  that  it  can  be  seen  in  the  mirror.  Have  some- 
one hold  a  screen  a  few  inches  above  the  table  so  a.s  to 
hide  the  star  from  your  direct  view,  but  so  that  you  can 
see  it  in  the  mirror.  Now  reach  your  hand  under  the 
screen  and  trace  with  a  pencil  around  the  star  from  left 
to  right,  not  taking  your  pencil  off  the  paper  until  you 
get  clear  around.  Keep  track  of  how  long  it  takes  to  go 
around  and  also  note  the  irregular  wanderings  of  your 
pencil.  Try  this  experiment  five  times  over,  noting  the 
decrease  in  time  and  effort  required,  and  the  increa-se 
in  efficiency  as  the  movements  tend  to  become  automatic. 

Volitional  Action. — While  it  is  obvious  that  the  various 
types  of  action  already  described  include  a  very  large 
proportion  of  all  our  acts,  yet  they  do  not  include  all. 
For  there  are  some  acts  that  are  neither  reflex  nor  in- 
stinctive nor  automatic,  but  that  have  to  be  performed 
under  the  stress  of  compulsion  and  effort.  We  con- 
stantly meet  situations  where  the  necessity  for  action  or 
restraint  runs  counter  to  our  inclinations.  We  daily  are 
confronted  by  the  necessity  of  making  decisions  in  which 
the  mind  must  be  compelled  by  effort  to  take  this  direc- 
tion or  that  direction.  Conflicting  motives  or  tendencies 
create  frequent  necessity  for  coercion.  It  is  often  neces- 
sary to  drive  our  bark  counter  to  the  current  of  our  de- 
sires or  our  habits,  or  to  enter  into  conflict  with  a  tempta- 
tion. 

Volition  Acts  in  the  Making  of  Decisions.— Everj-one 

knows  for  himself  the  state  of  inward  unrest  which  we 
call  indecision.  A  thought  enters  the  mind  which  would 
of  itself  prompt  an  act ;  but  before  the  act  can  occur, 
a  contrary  idea  appears  and  the  act  is  checked ;  another 


278  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

thought  comes  favoring  the  act,  and  is  in  turn  counter- 
balanced by  an  opposing  one.  The  impelling  and  inhib- 
iting ideas  we  call  motives  or  reasons  for  and  against 
the  proposed  act.  While  we  are  balancing  the  motives 
against  each  other,  we  are  said  to  deliberate.  This  proc- 
ess of  deliberation  must  go  on,  if  we  continue  to  think 
about  the  matter  at  all,  until  one  set  of  ideas  has  tri- 
umphed over  the  other  and  secured  the  attention.  When 
this  has  occurred,  we  have  decided,  and  the  deliberation 
is  at  an  end.  We  have  exercised  the  highest  function  of 
the  will  and  made  a  choice. 

Sometimes  the  battle  of  motives  is  short,  the  decision 
being  reached  as  soon  as  there  is  time  to  summon  all  the 
reasons  on  both  sides  of  the  question.  At  other  times 
the  conflict  may  go  on  at  intervals  for  days  or  weeks, 
neither  set  of  motives  being  strong  enough  to  vanquish 
the  other  and  dictate  the  decision.  When  the  motives 
are  somewhat  evenly  balanced  we  wisely  pause  in  mak- 
ing a  decision,  because  when  one  line  of  action  is  taken, 
the  other  cannot  be,  and  we  hesitate  to  lose  either  oppor- 
tunity. A  state  of  indecision  is  usually  highly  unpleas- 
ant, and  no  doubt  more  than  one  decision  has  been  has- 
tened in  our  lives  simply  that  we  might  be  done  with 
the  unpleasantness  attendant  on  the  consideration  of  two 
contrary  and  insistent  sets  of  motives. 

It  is  of  the  highest  importance  when  making  a  deci- 
sion of  any  consequence  that  we  should  be  fair  in  con- 
sidering all  the  reasons  on  both  sides  of  the  question, 
allowing  each  its  just  weight.  Nor  is  this  as  easy  as  it 
might  appear ;  for,  as  we  saw  in  our  study  of  the  emo- 
tions, our  feeling  attitude  toward  any  object  that  occu- 
pies the  mind  is  largely  responsible  for  the  subjective 
value  we  place  upon  it.  It  is  easy  to  be  so  prejudiced 
toward  or  against  a  line  of  action  that  the  motives  bear- 


THE  WILL  279 

ing  upon  it  cannot  get  fair  consideration.  To  be  able 
to  eliminate  this  personal  factor  to  such  an  extent  that 
the  evidence  before  us  on  a  question  may  be  considered 
on  its  merits  is  a  rare  accomplishment. 

Types  of  Decision. — A  decision  may  be  reached  in  a 
variety  of  ways,  the  most  important  ones  of  wiiich  may 
now  briefly  be  described  after  the  general  plan  suggested 
by  Professor  James: 

The  Reasonable  Type. — One  of  the  simplest  types  of 
decision  is  that  in  which  the  preponderance  of  motives 
is  clearly  seen  to  be  on  one  side  or  the  other,  and  the 
only  rational  thing  to  do  is  to  decide  in  accordance  with 
the  weight  of  evidence.  Decisions  of  this  type  are  called 
reasonable.  If  we  discover  ten  reasons  why  we  should 
pursue  a  certain  course  of  action,  and  only  one  or 
two  reasons  of  equal  weight  why  we  should  not,  then 
the  decision  ought  not  to  be  hard  to  make.  The  points 
to  watch  in  this  case  are  (a)  that  we  have  really  dis- 
covered all  the  important  reasons  on  both  sides  of  the 
case,  and  (b)  that  our  feelings  of  personal  interest  or 
prejudice  have  not  given  some  of  the  motives  an  undue 
weight  in  our  scale  of  values. 

Accidental  type :  External  Motives. — It  is  to  be  doubted 
whether  as  many  of  our  decisions  are  made  under  im- 
mediate stress  of  volition  as  we  think.  We  may  bo  hesi- 
tating between  two  sets  of  motives,  unable  to  decide  be- 
tween them,  when  a  third  factor  enters  which  is  not 
really  related  to  the  question  at  all,  but  which  finally  dic- 
tates the  decision  nevertheless.  For  example,  we  are 
considering  the  question  whether  we  shall  go  on  an  ex- 
cursion or  stay  at  home  and  complete  a  piece  of  work. 
The  benefits  coming  from  the  recreation,  and  the  pleas- 
ures of  the  trip,  are  pitted  against  the  expense  which 
must  be  incurred  and  the  desirability  of  having  the  work 


280  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

done  on  time.  At  this  point,  while  as  yet  we  have  been 
unable  to  decide,  a  friend  comes  along,  and  we  seek  to 
evade  the  responsibility  of  making  our  own  decision  by 
appealing  to  him,  "You  tell  me  what  to  do!"  How 
few  of  us  have  never  said  in  effect  if  not  in  words,  "I 
will  do  this  or  that  if  you  will"!  How  few  have  never 
taken  advantage  of  a  rainy  day  to  stay  from  church  or 
shirk  an  undesirable  engagement!  How  few  have  not 
allowed  important  questions  to  be  decided  by  some  trivial 
or  accidental  factor  not  really  related  to  the  choice  in 
the  least! 

This  form  of  decision  is  accidental  decision.  It  does 
not  rest  on  motives  which  are  vitally  related  to  the  case, 
but  rather  on  the  accident  of  external  circumstances. 
The  person  who  habitually  makes  his  decisions  in  this 
way  lacks  power  of  will.  He  does  not  hold  himself  to 
the  question  until  he  has  gathered  the  evidence  before 
him,  and  then  himself  direct  his  attention  to  the  best 
line  of  action  and  so  secure  its  performance.  He  drifts 
with  the  tide,  he  goes  with  the  crowd,  he.  shirks  respon- 
sibility. 

Accidental  Type:  Subjective  Motives. — A  second  type 
of  accidental  decision  may  occur  when  we  are  hesitating 
between  two  lines  of  action  which  are  seemingly  about 
equally  desirable,  and  no  preponderating  motive  enters 
the  field;  when  no  external  factor  appears,  and  no  ad- 
vising friend  comes  to  the  rescue.  Then,  with  the  neces- 
sity for  deciding  thrust  upon  us,  we  tire  of  the  worry 
and  strain  of  deliberation  and  say  to  ourselves,  "This 
thing  must  be  settled  one  way  or  the  other  pretty  soon ; 
I  am  tired  of  the  whole  matter, ' '  When  we  have  reached 
this  point  we  are  likely  to  shut  our  eyes  to  the  evidence 
in  tbe  case,  and  decide  largely  upon  the  whim  or  mood 
of  the  moment.    Very  likely  we  regret  our  decision  the 


THE  WILL  281 

next  instant,  but  without  any  more  cause  for  the  regret 
than  we  had  for  the  decision. 

It  is  evident  that  such  a  decision  as  this  does  not 
rest  on  valid  motives  but  rather  on  the  accident  of  sub- 
jective conditions.  Habitual  decisions  of  this  type  are 
an  evidence  of  a  mental  laziness  or  a  mental  incompe- 
tence which  renders  the  individual  incapable  of  marshal- 
ing the  facts  bearing  on  a  case.  He  cannot  hold  tliem 
before  his  mind  and  weigh  them  against  each  other  un- 
til one  side  outweighs  the  other  and  dictates  the  decision. 
Of  course  the  remedy  for  this  weakness  of  decision  lies 
in  not  allowing  oneself  to  be  pushed  into  a  decision  sim- 
ply to  escape  the  unpleasantness  of  a  state  of  indecision, 
or  the  necessity  of  searching  for  further  evidence  which 
will  make  the  decision  easier. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  is  possible  to  form  a  habit  of 
indecision,  of  undue  hesitancy  in  coming  to  conclusions 
when  the  evidence  is  all  before  us.  This  gives  us  the 
mental  dawdler,  the  person  who  will  spend  several  min- 
utes in  an  agony  of  indecision  over  whether  to  carry  an 
umbrella  on  this  particular  trip ;  whether  to  wear  black 
shoes  or  tan  shoes  today ;  whether  to  go  calling  or  to  stay 
at  home  and  write  letters  this  afternoon.  Such  a  person 
is  usually  in  a  stew  over  some  inconsequential  matter, 
and  consumes  so  much  time  and  energy  in  fussing  over 
trivial  things  that  he  is  incapable  of  handling  larger 
ones.  If  we  are  certain  that  we  have  all  the  facts  in  a 
given  case  before  us,  and  have  given  each  its  due  weight 
so  far  as  our  judgment  will  enable  us  to  do,  then  there 
is  nothing  to  be  gained  by  delaying  the  decision.  Nor 
is  there  any  occasion  to  change  the  decision  after  it  has 
once  been  made  unless  new  evidence  is  discovered  bear- 
ing on  the  case. 

Decision  Under  Effort.— The  highest  type  of  decision  is 


282  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

that  in  which  effort  is  the  determining  factor.  The  pres- 
sure of  external  circumstances  and  inward  impulse  is 
not  enough  to  overcome  a  calm  and  determined  7  will. 
Two  possible  lines  of  action  may  lie  open  before  us. 
Every  current  of  our  being  leads  toward  the  one ;  in 
addition,  inclination,  friends,  honors,  all  beckon  in  the 
same  direction.  From  the  other  course  our  very  nature 
shrinks ;  duty  alone  bids  us  take  this  line,  and  promises 
no  rewards  except  the  approval  of  conscience.  Here  is 
the  crucial  point  in  human  experience ;  the  supreme  test 
of  the  individual ;  the  last  measure  of  man 's  independ- 
ence and  jDower.  Winning  at  this  point  man  has  exer- 
cised his  highest  prerogative — that  of  independent 
choice ;  failing  here,  he  reverts  toward  the  lower  forms 
and  is  a  creature  of  circumstance,  no  longer  the  master 
of  his  own  destiny,  but  blown  about  by  the  winds  of 
chance.  And  it  behooves  us  to  win  in  this  battle.  We 
may  lose  in  a  contest  or  a  game  and  yet  not  fail,  because 
we  have  done  our  best;  if  we  fail  in  the  conflict  of  mo- 
tives we  have  planted  a  seed  of  weakness  from  which  we 
shall  at  last  harvest  defeat. 

Jean  Valjean,  the  galley  slave  of  almost  a  score  of 
years,  escapes  and  lives  an  honest  life.  He  wins  the  re- 
spect and  admiration  of  friends;  he  is  elected  mayor  of 
his  town,  and  honors  are  heaped  on  him.  At  the  height 
of  his  prosperity  he  reads  one  day  that  a  man  has  been 
arrested  in  another  town  for  the  escaped  convict,  Jean 
Valjean,  and  is  about  to  be  sent  to  the  galleys.  Now 
comes  the  supreme  test  in  Jean  Valjean 's  life.  Shall 
he  remain  the  honored,  respected  citizen  and  let  an  in- 
nocent man  suffer  in  his  stead,  or  shall  he  proclaim  him- 
self the  long-sought  criminal  and  again  have  the  collar 
riveted  on  his  neck  and  take  his  place  at  the  oars?  He 
spends  one  awful  night  of  conflict  in  which  contending 


THE  WILL  283 

motives  make  a  battle  ground  of  his  soul.  liiit  in  the 
morning  he  has  won.  He  has  saved  his  manhood.  His 
conscience  yet  lives — and  he  goes  and  gives  hiiiLs»'lf  up 
to  the  officers.  Nor  could  he  do  otherwise  and  still  re- 
main a  man. 

3.     STRONG  AND  WEAK  WILI>S 

Many  persons  will  admit  that  their  memory  or  im- 
agination or  power  of  perception  is  not  good,  but  few 
will  confess  to  a  weak  will.  Strength  of  will  is  every- 
where lauded  as  a  mark  of  worth  and  character.  How 
can  we  tell  whether  our  will  is  strong  or  weak? 

Not  a  Will,  But  Wills. — First  of  all  we  need  to  remem- 
ber that,  just  as  we  do  not  have  a  memor>',  but  a  system 
of  memories,  so  we  do  not  possess  a  will,  but  numy  dif- 
ferent wills.  By  this  I  mean  that  the  will  mu.st  Ik'  uallod 
upon  and  tested  at  every  point  of  contact  in  experience 
before  we  have  fully  measured  its  strength.  Our  will 
may  have  served  us  reasonably  well  so  far,  bnt  we  may 
not  yet  have  met  any  great  number  of  hard  tests  becau.se 
our  experience  and  temptations  have  been  limited. 

Nor  must  we  forget  to  take  into  account  both  the  nega- 
tive and  the  positive  functions  of  the  will.  Many  there 
are  who  think  of  the  will  chietly  in  its  negative  u.se.  as 
a  kind  of  a  check  or  barrier  to  save  us  from  doing  <'er- 
tain  things.  That  this  is  an  important  function  cannot 
be  denied.  But  the  positive  is  the  higher  function. 
There  are  many  men  and  women  who  are  able  to  resist 
evil,  but  able  to  do  little  good.  They  are  good  enough, 
but  not  good  for  much.  They  lack  the  power  of  etTort 
and  self-compulsion  to  hold  them  up  tx)  th.;  high  stand- 
ards and  stern  endeavor  necessary  to  save  them  from 
inferiority  or  mediocrity.     It  is  almost  certain  that  for 


284  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

most  who  read  these  words  the  greatest  test  of  their 
will  power  will  be  in  the  positive  instead  of  the  nega- 
tive direction. 

Objective  Tests  a  False  Measure  of  Will  Power. — The 
actual  amount  of  volition  exercised  in  making  a  decision 
cannot  be  measured  by  objective  results.  The  fact  that 
you  follow  the  pathway  of  duty,  while  I  falter  and 
finally  drift  into  the  byways  of  pleasure,  is  not  certain 
evidence  that  you  have  put  forth  the  greater  power  of 
will.  In  the  first  place,  the  allurements  which  led  me 
astray  may  have  had  no  charms  for  you.  Furthermore, 
you  may  have  so  formed  the  habit  of  pursuing  the  path- 
way of  duty  when  the  two  paths  opened  before  you,  that 
your  well-trained  feet  unerringly  led  you  into  the  nar- 
row way  without  a  struggle.  Of  course  you  are  on  safer 
ground  than  I,  and  on  ground  that  we  should  all  seek 
to  attain.  But,  nevertheless,  I,  although  I  fell  when  I 
should  have  stood,  may  have  been  fighting  a  battle  and 
manifesting  a  power  of  resistance  of  which  you,  under 
similar  temptation,  would  have  been  incapable.  The 
only  point  from  which  a  conflict  of  motives  can  be  safely 
judged  is  that  of  the  soul  which  is  engaged  in  the 
struggle. 

4,     VOLITIONAL  TYPES 

Several  fairly  well-marked  volitional  types  may  be  dis- 
covered. It  is,  of  course,  to  be  understood  that  these 
types  all  grade  by  insensible  degrees  into  each  other, 
and  that  extreme  types  are  the  exception  rather  than  the 
rule. 

The  Impulsive  Type.' — The  impulsive  type  of  will 
goes  along  with  a  nervous  organism  of  the  hair- 
trigger  kind.  The  brain  is  in  a  state  of  highly  unstable 
equilibrium,  and  a  relatively  slight  current  serves  to  set 


THE  WILL  285 

off  the  motor  centers.  Action  follows  before  there  is  time 
for  a  counteracting  current  to  intervene.  Putting  it 
in  mental  terms,  we  act  on  an  idea  which  presents  itself 
before  an  opposing  one  has  opportunity  to  enter  the 
mind.  Hence  the  action  is  largely  or  wholly  ideo-niotor 
and  hut  slightly  or  not  at  all  deliherate.  It  is  this  type 
of  will  which  results  in  the  hasty  word  or  deed,  or  the 
rash  act  committed  on  the  impulse  of  the  moment  and 
repented  of  at  leisure;  which  compels  the  frequent,  "I 
didn  't  think,  or  I  would  not  have  done  it ! "  The  impul- 
sive person  may  undoubtedly  have  credited  up  to  him 
many  kind  words  and  noble  deeds.  In  addition,  he 
usually  carries  with  him  an  air  of  spontaneity  and  whole- 
heartedness  which  goes  far  to  atone  for  his  faults.  The 
fact  remains,  however,  that  he  is  too  little  the  master 
of  his  acts,  that  he  is  guided  too  largely  by  external  cir- 
cumstances or  inward  caprice.    He  lacks  balance. 

Impulsive  action  is  not  to  be  confused  with  quick  de- 
cision and  rapid  action.  J\Iany  of  the  world's  greatest 
and  safest  leaders  have  been  noted  for  quickness  of  de- 
cision and  for  rapidity  of  action  in  carrying  out  their 
decisions.  It  must  be  remembered,  however,  that  these 
men  were  making  decisions  in  fields  well  known  to  them. 
They  were  specialists  in  this  line  of  deliberation.  The 
motives  for  and  against  certain  lines  of  action  had  often 
been  dwelt  upon.  All  possible  contingencies  had  been 
imaged  many  times  over,  and  a  valuation  placed  upon  the 
different  decisions.  The  various  concepts  had  long  been 
associated  with  certain  definite  lines  of  action.  Deliber- 
ation under  such  conditions  can  be  carried  on  with  light- 
ning rapidity,  each  motive  being  checked  off  as  worth  so 
much  the  instant  it  presents  itself,  and  action  can  fol- 
low immediately  when  attention  settles  on  the  proper 
motive  to  govern  the  decision.    This  is  not  impulse,  but 


286  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

abbreviated  deliberation.  These  facts  suggest  to  us  that 
we  should  think  much  and  carefully  over  matters  in 
which  we  are  required  to  make  quick  decisions. 

Of  course  the  remedy  for  the  overimpulsive  type  is 
to  cultivate  deliberative  action.  When  the  impulse  comes 
to  act  without  consideration,  pause  to  give  the  other 
side  of  the  question  an  opportunity  to  be  heard.  Check 
the  motor  response  to  ideas  that  suggest  action  until 
you  have  reviewed  the  field  to  see  whether  there  are 
contrary  reasons  to  be  taken  into  account.  Form  the 
habit  of  waiting  for  all  evidence  before  deciding. 
"Think  twice"  before  you  act. 

The  Obstructed  Will. — The  opposite  of  the  impulsive 
type  of  will  is  the  obstructed  or  halky  will.  In  this  type 
there  is  too  much  inhibition,  or  else  not  enough  impul- 
sion. Images  which  should  result  in  action  are  check- 
mated by  opposing  images,  or  do  not  possess  vitality 
enough  as  motives  to  overcome  the  dead  weight  of  in- 
ertia which  clogs  mental  action.  The  person  knows  well 
enough  what  he  should  do,  but  he  cannot  get  started. 
He  ' '  cannot  get  the  consent  of  his  will. ' '  It  may  be  the 
student  whose  mind  is  tormented  by  thoughts  of  coming 
failure  in  recitation  or  examination,  but  who  yet  can- 
not force  himself  to  the  exertion  necessary  safely  to 
meet  the  ordeal.  It  may  be  the  dissolute  man  who  tor- 
tures himself  in  his  sober  moments  with  remorse  and  the 
thought  that  he  was  intended  for  better  things,  but  who, 
waking  from  his  meditations,  goes  on  in  the  same  old 
way.  It  may  be  the  child  undergoing  punishment,  who  is 
to  be  released  from  bondage  as  soon  as  he  will  promise 
to  be  good,  but  who  cannot  bring  himself  to  say  the  nec- 
essary words.  It  not  only  may  be,  but  is,  man  or  woman 
anywhere  who  has  ideals  which  are  known  to  be  worthy 
and  noble,  but  which  fail  to  take  hold.    It  is  anyone  who 


THE  WILL  287 

is  following  a  course  of  action  which  he  knows  is  be- 
neath him. 

No  one  can  doubt  that  the  moral  tragedies,  the  failures 
and  the  shipwrecks  in  life  come  far  more  from  the  break- 
ing of  the  bonds  which  should  bind  right  ideals  to  ac- 
tion than  from  a  failure  to  perceive  the  truth.  Men 
differ  far  more  in  their  deeds  than  in  their  standards  of 
action. 

The  remedy  for  this  diseased  type  of  will  is  much 
easier  to  prescribe  than  to  apply.  It  is  simply  to  re- 
fuse to  attend  to  the  contrary  thoughts  which  are  block- 
ing action,  and  to  cultivate  and  encourage  those  which 
lead  to  action  of  the  right  kind.  It  is  seeking  to  vital- 
ize our  good  impulses  and  render  them  effective  by  act- 
ing on  them  whenever  opportunity  offers.  Nothing  can 
be  accomplished  by  moodily  dwelling  on  the  disgrace  of 
harboring  the  obstructing  ideas.  Thus  brooding  over 
them  only  encourages  them.  What  we  need  is  to  get  en- 
tirely away  from  the  line  of  thought  in  which  we  have 
met  our  obstruction,  and  approach  the  matter  from  a 
different  direction.  The  child  who  is  in  a  fit  of  sulks 
does  not  so  much  need  a  lecture  on  the  disagreeable  habit 
he  is  forming  as  to  have  his  thoughts  led  into  lines  not 
connected  with  the  grievance  which  is  causing  him  the 
trouble.  The  stubborn  child  does  not  need  to  have  his 
will  "broken,"  but  rather  to  have  it  strengthened.  lie 
may  be  compelled  to  do  what  he  does  not  want  to  do ;  but 
if  this  is  accomplished  through  physical  force  instead  of 
by  leading  to  thoughts  connected  with  the  performance 
of  the  act,  it  may  be  doubted  whether  the  will  lias  in  any 
degree  been  strengthened.  Indeed  it  may  rather  be  de- 
pended upon  that  the  will  has  been  weakened;  for  an 
opportunity  for  self-control,  through  which  alone  the 
will  develops,  has  been  lost.    The  ultimate  remedy  for 


288  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

rebellion  often  lies  in  greater  freedom  at  the  proper  time. 
This  does  not  mean  that  the  child  should  not  obey  right- 
ful authority  promptly  and  explicitly,  but  that  just  as 
little  external  authority  as  possible  should  intervene  to 
take  from  the  child  the  opportunity  for  se //-compulsion. 
The  Normal  Will, — The  golden  mean  between  these  two 
abnormal  types  of  will  may  be  called  the  normal  or  hal- 
anced  will.  Here  there  is  a  proper  ratio  between  impul- 
sion and  inhibition.  Ideas  are  not  acted  upon  the  in- 
stant they  enter  the  mind  without  giving  time  for  a  sur- 
vey of  the  field  of  motives,  neither  is  action  ''sicklied 
o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought"  to  such  an  extent 
that  it  becomes  impossible.  The  evidence  is  all  consid- 
ered and  each  motive  fully  weighed.  But  this  once  done, 
decision  follows.  No  dilatory  and  obstructive  tactics 
are  allowed.  The  fleeting  impulse  is  not  enough  to  per- 
suade to  action,  neither  is  action  unduly  delayed  after 
the  decision  is  made. 

5.     TRAINING  THE  WILL 

The  will  is  to  be  trained  as  we  train  the  other  powers 
of  the  mind — through  the  exercise  of  its  normal  func- 
tion. The  function  of  the  will  is  to  direct  or  control  in 
the  actual  affairs  of  life.  Many  well-meaning  persons 
speak  of  training  the  will  as  if  we  could  separate  it  from 
the  interests  and  purposes  of  our  daily  living,  and  in 
some  way  put  it  through  its  paces  merely  for  the  sake 
of  adding  to  its  general  strength.  This  view  is  all  wrong. 
There  is,  as  we  have  seen,  no  such  thing  as  general  power 
of  will.  Will  is  always  required  in  specific  acts  and 
emergencies,  and  it  is  precisely  upon  such  matters  that 
it  must  be  exercised  if  it  is  to  be  cultivated. 

Will  to  Be  Trained  in  Common  Rouiid  of  Duties. — ^What 


THE  WILL  289 

is  needed  in  developing  the  will  is  a  deep  moral  interest 
in  whatever  we  set  out  to  do,  and  a  high  purpose  to  do 
it  up  to  the  limit  of  our  powers.  AVithout  this,  any  ar- 
tificial exercises,  no  matter  how  carefully  they  are  de- 
vised or  how  heroically  they  are  carried  out,  cannot  but 
fail  to  fit  us  for  the  real  tests  of  life ;  with  it,  artificial 
exercises  are  superfluous.  It  matters  not  so  much  what 
our  vocation  as  how  it  is  performed.  The  most  common- 
place human  experience  is  rich  in  opportunities  for  the 
highest  form  of  expression  possible  to  the  will — that  of 
directing  us  into  right  lines  of  action,  and  of  holding 
us  to  our  best  in  the  accomplishment  of  some  dominant 
purpose. 

There  is  no  one  set  form  of  exercise  which  alone  will 
serve  to  train  the  will.  The  student  pushing  steadily 
toward  his  goal  in  spite  of  poverty  and  grinding  labor; 
the  teacher  who,  though  unappreciated  and  poorly  paid, 
yet  performs  every  duty  with  conscientious  thorough- 
ness ;  the  man  who  stands  firm  in  the  face  of  temptation ; 
the  person  whom  heredity  or  circumstance  has  handi- 
capped, but  who,  nevertheless,  courageously  fights  his 
battle ;  the  countless  men  and  women  everywhere  wliose 
names  are  not  known  to  fame,  but  who  stand  in  the  hard 
places,  bearing  the  heat  and  the  toil  witli  brave,  un- 
flinching hearts — these  are  the  ones  who  are  developing 
a  moral  fiber  and  strength  of  will  which  will  stand  in 
the  day  of  stress.  Better  a  thousand  times  such  train- 
ing as  this  in  the  thick  of  life's  real  conflicts  tlian  any 
volitional  calisthenics  or  priggish  self-denials  entered 
into  solely  for  the  training  of  the  will ! 

School  Work  and  Will  Training.— The  work  of  the 
school  offers  as  good  an  opportunity  for  training  powers 
of  will  as  of  memory  or  reasoning.  On  the  side  of  inhi- 
bition there  is  always  the  necessity  for  self-restraint  and 


290  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

control  so  that  the  rights  of  others  may  not  be  infringed 
upon.  Temptations  to  unfairness  or  insincerity  in  les- 
sons and  examinations  are  always  to  be  met.  The  social 
relations  of  the  school  necessitate  the  development  of 
personal  poise  and  independence. 

On  the  positive  side  the  opportunities  for  the  exercise 
of  will  power  are  always  at  hand  in  the  school.  Every 
lesson  gives  the  pupil  a  chance  to  measure  his  strength 
and  determination  against  the  resistance  of  the  task. 
High  standards  are  to  be  built  up,  ideals  maintained, 
habits  rendered  secure. 

The  great  problem  for  the  teacher  in  this  connection 
is  so  to  organize  both  control  and  instruction  that  the 
largest  possible  opportunity  is  given  to  pupils  for  the 
exercise  of  their  own  powers  of  will  in  all  school  relations. 


6.  FEEEDOM  OF  THE  WILL,  OE  THE  EXTENT  OF  ITS 

CONTEOL 

"We  have  seen  in  this  discussion  that  will  is  a  mode  of 
control — control  of  our  thoughts  and,  through  our 
thoughts,  of  our  actions.  Will  may  be  looked  upon,  then, 
as  the  culmination  of  the  mental  life,  the  highest  form 
of  directive  agent  within  us.  Beginning  with  the  direc- 
tion of  the  simplest  movements,  it  goes  on  until  it  gov- 
erns the  current  of  our  life  in  the  pursuit  of  some  dis- 
tant ideal. 

Limitations  of  the  Will. — Just  how  far  the  will  can  go 
in  its  control,  just  how  far  man  is  a  free  moral  agent,  has 
long  been  one  of  the  mooted  questions  among  the  phi- 
losophers. But  some  few  facts  are  clear.  If  the  will  can 
exercise  full  control  over  all  our  acts,  it  by  this  very  fact 
determines  our  character;  and  character  spells  destiny. 
There  is  not  the  least  doubt,  however,  that  the  will  in 


THE  WILL  291 

thus  directing  us  in  the  achievement  of  a  destiny  works 
under  two  limitations:  First,  every  individual  enters 
upon  life  with  a  large  stock  of  inherited  tendencies, 
which  go  far  to  shape  his  interests  and  aspirations.  And 
these  are  important  factors  in  the  work  of  volition. 
Second,  w^e  all  have  our  setting  in  the  midst  of  a  great 
material  and  social  environment,  which  is  largely  beyond 
our  power  to  modify,  and  whose  influences  are  constantly 
playing  upon  us  and  molding  us  according  to  their  type. 

These  Limitations  the  Conditions  of  Freedom, — Yet 
there  is  nothing  in  this  thought  to  discourage  us.  For 
these  very  limitations  have  ip.  them  our  hope  of  a  larger 
freedom.  Man's  heredity,  coming  to  him  through  ages 
of  conflict  with  the  forces  of  nature,  with  his  brother 
man,  and  with  himself,  has  deeply  instilled  in  him  the 
spirit  of  independence  and  self-control.  It  has  trained 
him  to  deliberate,  to  choose,  to  achieve.  It  has  developed 
in  him  the  power  to  will.  Likewise  man's  environment, 
in  which  he  must  live  and  work,  furnishes  the  problems 
which  his  life  w^ork  is  to  solve,  and  out  of  ivkose  solution 
will  receives  its  only  true  development. 

It  is  through  the  action  and  interaction  of  these  two 
factors,  then,  that  man  is  to  w^ork  out  his  destiny. 
"What  he  is,  coupled  with  what  he  may  do,  leads  him  to 
what  he  may  become.  Every  man  possesses  in  some  de- 
gree a  spark  of  divinity,  a  sovereign  individuality,  a 
power  of  independent  initiative.  This  is  all  he  needs  to 
make  him  free — free  to  do  his  best  in  whatever  walk 
of  life  he  finds  himself.  If  he  will  but  do  this,  the  doing 
of  it  will  lead  him  into  a  constantly  growing  freedom, 
and  he  can  voice  the  cry  of  every  earnest  heart : 

Build  thee  more  stately  mansions,  0  my  soul ! 
As  the  swift  seasons  roll ! 


292  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

Leave  thy  low- vaulted  past! 

Let  each  new  temple,  nobler  than  the  last, 

Shut  thee  from  heaven  with  a  dome  more  vast, 

Till  thou  at  length  art  free, 

Leaving  thine  outgrown  shell  by  life's  unresting  sea! 


7.  PEOBLEMS  IN  OBSERVATION  AND  INTEOSPECTION 

1.  Give  illustrations  from  your  own  experience  of  the 
various  types  of  action  mentioned  in  this  discussion.  From 
your  own  experience  of  the  last  hour,  what  examples  of  im- 
pulsive action  can  you  give?  Would  it  have  been  better  in 
some  cases  had  you  stopped  to  deliberate? 

2.  Are  you  easily  influenced  by  prejudice  or  personal  pref- 
erence in  making  decisions?  What  recent  decisions  have  been 
thus  affected?  Can  you  classify  the  various  ones  of  your 
decisions  which  you  can  recall  under  the  four  types  men- 
tioned in  the  text  ?  Under  which  class  does  the  largest  number 
fall?  Have  you  a  tendency  to  drift  with  the  crowd?  Are 
you  independent  in  deciding  upon  and  following  out  a  line 
of  action?  What  is  the  value  of  advice?  Ought  advice  to  do 
more  than  to  assist  in  getting  all  the  evidence  on  a  case  be- 
fore the  one  who  is  to  decide? 

3.  Can  you  judge  yourself  well  enough  to  tell  to  which  vo- 
litional type  you  belong?  Are  you  over-impulsive?  Are  you 
stubborn?  What  is  the  difference  between  stubbornness  and 
'firmness?  Suppose  you  ask  your  instructor,  or  a  friend,  to 
assist  you  in  classifying  yourself  as  to  volitional  type.  Are 
you  troubled  with  indecision;  that  is,  do  you  have  hard  work 
to  decide  in  trivial  matters  even  after  you  know  all  the  facts 
in  the  case?  What  is  the  cause  of  these  states  of  indecision? 
The  remedy? 

4.  Have  you  a  strong  power  of  will?  Can  you  control 
your  attention?  Do  you  submit  easily  to  temptation?  Can 
you  hold  youi-self  up  to  a  high  degree  of  effort?  Can  you 
persevere?     Have  you  ever  failed  in  the  attainment  of  some 


THE  WILL  293 

cherished  ideal  because  you  could  not  briiif?  yourself  to  pay 
the  price  in  the  sacrifice  or  effort  necessary? 

5.  Consider  the  class  work  and  examinations  of  schools 
that  you  know.  Does  the  system  of  management  and  control 
throw  responsibility  on  the  pupils  in  a  way  to  develop  their 
powers  of  will? 

6.  What  motives  or  incentives  can  be  used  to  cncourag:e 
pupils  to  use  self-compulsion  to  maintain  high  standards  of 
excellence  in  their  studies  and  conduct?  Does  it  pay  to  be 
heroic  in  one's  self -control  ? 


CHAPTER   XVIII 
SELF-EXPRESSION  AND  DEVELOPMENT 

We  have  already  seen  that  the  mind  and  the  body  are 
associated  in  a  copartnership  in  which  each  is  an  indis- 
pensable and  active  member.  We  have  seen  that  the 
body  gets  its  dignity  and  worth  from  its  relation  with 
the  mind,  and  that  the  mind  is  dependent  on  the  body 
for  the  crude  material  of  its  thought,  and  also  for  the 
carrying  out  of  its  mandates  in  securing  adaptation  to 
our  environment.  We  have  seen  as  a  corollary  of  these 
facts  that  the  efficiency  of  both  mind  and  body  is  con- 
ditioned by  the  manner  in  which  each  carries  out  its 
share  of  the  mutual  activities.  Let  us  see  something 
more  of  this  inter-relation. 

1.     INTEE-RELATION  OF  IMPRESSION  AND  EXPRESSION 

No  impression  without  corresponding  expression  has 
become  a  maxim  in  both  physiology  and  psychology.  In- 
ner life  implies  self-expression  in  external  activities. 
The  stream  of  impressions  pouring  in  upon  us  hourly 
from  our  environment  must  have  means  of  expression  if 
development  is  to  follow.  We  cannot  be  passive  recipi- 
ents, but  must  be  active  participants  in  the  educational 
process.  We  must  not  only  be  able  to  know  and  feel,  but 
to  flo. 

The  Many  Sources  of  Impressions. — The  nature  of  the 
impressions  which  come  to  us  and  how  they  all  lead  on 

294 


295 


296  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

toward  ultimate  expression  is  shown  in  the  accompany- 
ing diagram  (Fig.  20).  Our  material  environment  is 
thrusting  impressions  upon  us  every  moment  of  our  life ; 
also,  the  material  objects  with  which  we  deal  have  be- 
come so  saturated  with  social  values  that  each  comes  to 
us  with  a  double  significance,  and  what  an  object  means 
often  stands  for  more  than  what  it  is.  From  the  lives 
of  people  with  whom  we  daily  mingle ;  from  the  wider 
circle  whose  lives  do  not  immediately  touch  ours,  but  who 
are  interpreted  to  us  by  the  press,  by  history  and  liter- 
ature; from  the  social  institutions  into  which  have  gone 
the  lives  of  millions,  and  of  which  our  lives  form  a  part, 
there  come  to  us  constantly  a  flood  of  impressions  whose 
influence  cannot  be  measured.  So  likewise  with  reli- 
gious impressions.  God  is  all  about  us  and  within  us. 
He  speaks  to  us  from  every  nook  and  corner  of  nature, 
and  communes  with  us  through  the  still  small  voice  from 
within,  if  we  will  but  listen.  The  Bible,  religious  in- 
struction, and  the  lives  of  good  people  are  other  sources 
of  religious  impressioiis  constantly  tending  to  mold  our 
lives.  The  beautiful  in  nature,  art,  and  human  conduct 
constantly  appeals  to  us  in  aesthetic  impressions. 

All  Impressions  lead  toward  Expression. — Each  of 
these  groups  of  impressions  may  be  subdivided  and  ex- 
tended into  an  almost  indefinite  number  and  variety, 
the  different  groups  meeting  and  overlapping,  it  is  true, 
yet  each  preserving  reasonably  distinct  characteristics. 
A  common  characteristic  of  them  all,  as  shown  in  the  dia- 
gram, is  that  they  all  point  toward  expression.  The  va- 
rieties of  light,  color,  form,  and  distance  which  we  get 
through  vision  are  not  merely  that  we  may  know  these 
phenomena  of  nature,  but  that,  knowing  them,  we  may 
use  the  knowledge  in  making  proper  responses  to  our 
environment.    Our  power  to  know  human  sympathy  and 


SELF-EXPRESSION  AND  DEVELOPMENT       297 

love  through  our  social  impressions  are  not  merely  tliat 
we  may  feel  these  emotions,  but  that,  feeling  them,  we 
may  act  in  response  to  them. 

It  is  impossible  to  classify  logically  in  any  simple 
scheme  all  the  possible  forms  of  expression.  The  dia- 
gram will  serve,  however,  to  call  attention  to  some  of  the 
chief  modes  of  bodil}^  expression,  and  also  to  the  results 
of  the  bodily  expressions  in  the  arts  and  vocations.  Here 
again,  the  process  of  subdivision  and  extension  can  be 
carried  out  indefinitely.  The  laugh  can  be  made  to  tell 
many  different  stories.  Crying  may  express  bitter  sor- 
row or  uncontrollable  joy.  Vocal  speech  may  be  carried 
on  in  a  thousand  tongues.  Dramatic  action  may  be  made 
to  portray  the  whole  range  of  human  feelings.  Plays 
and  games  are  wide  enough  in  their  scope  to  satisfy  tiie 
demands  of  all  ages  and  every  people.  The  handicrafts 
cover  so  wide  a  range  that  the  material  progress  of  civi- 
lization can  be  classed  under  them,  and  indeed  without 
their  development  the  arts  and  vocations  would  be  im- 
possible. Architecture,  sculpture,  painting,  nuisic,  and 
literature  have  a  thousand  possibilities  both  in  technitiue 
and  content.  Likewise  the  modes  of  society,  conduct, 
and  religion  are  unlimited  in  their  forms  of  expression. 

Limitations  of  Expression. — "While  it  is  more  blessed  to 
give  than  to  receive,  it  is  somewhat  harder  in  the  doing; 
for  more  of  the  self  is,  after  all,  involved  in  expression 
than  in  impression.  Expression  needs  to  be  cultivated  as 
an  art;  for  who  can  express  all  he  thinks,  or  feels,  or 
conceives?  Who  can  do  his  innermost  self  justice  when 
he  attempts  to  express  it  in  language,  in  nuisie,  or  in 
marble?  The  painter  answers  when  praised  for  his 
work,  "If  you  could  but  see  the  picture  I  intended  to 
paint!"  The  pupil  says,  "I  know,  but  I  cannot  tell." 
The  friend  says,  "I  wish  I  could  tell  you  liow  sorry  I 


298  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

am."  The  actor  complains,  "If  I  could  only  portray 
the  passion  as  I  feel  it,  I  could  bring  all  the  world  to  my 
feet!"  The  body,  being  of  grosser  structure  than  the 
mind,  must  always  lag  somewhat  behind  in  expressing 
the  mind 's  states ;  yet,  so  perfect  is  the  harmony  between 
the  two,  that  with  a  body  well  trained  to  respond  to 
the  mind's  needs,  comparatively  little  of  the  spiritual 
need  be  lost  in  its  expression  through  the  material. 

3.  THE  PLACE  OF  EXPEESSION  IN  DEVELOPMENT 

Nor  are  we  to  think  that  cultivation  of  expression  re- 
sults in  better  power  of  expression  alone,  or  that  lack  of 
cultivation  results  only  in  decreased  power  of  expres- 
sion. 

Intellectual  Value  of  Expression. — There  is  a  distinct 
mental  value  in  expression.  An  idea  always  assumes  new 
clearness  and  wider  relations  when  it  is  expressed. 
Michael  Angelo,  making  his  plans  for  the  great  cathe- 
dral, found  his  first  concept  of  the  structure  expanding 
and  growing  more  beautiful  as  he  developed  his  plans. 
The  sculptor,  beginning  to  model  the  statue  after  the 
image  which  he  has  in  his  mind,  finds  the  image  growing 
and  becoming  more  expressive  and  beautiful  as  the  clay 
is  molded  and  formed.  The  writer  finds  the  scope  and 
worth  of  his  book  growing  as  he  proceeds  with  the  writ- 
ing. The  student,  beginning  doubtfully  on  his  construc- 
tion in  geometry,  finds  the  truth  growing  clearer  as  he 
proceeds.  The  child  with  a  dim  and  hazy  notion  of  the 
meaning  of  the  story  in  history  or  literature  discovers 
that  the  meaning  grows  clear  as  he  himself  works  out 
its  expression  in  speech,  in  the  handicrafts,  or  in  dra- 
matic representation. 

So  we  may  apply  the  test  to  any  realm  of  thought 


SELF-EXPRESSION  AND  DEVELOPMENT      299 

whatever,  and  the  law  holds  good :  It  is  not  in  its  ap- 
prehension, hut  in  its  expression,  that  a  truth  finally 
becomes  asstmilated  to  our  body  of  usable  knowledge. 
And  this  means  that  in  all  training  of  the  body  through 
its  motor  expression  we  are  to  remember  that  the  mind 
must  be  behind  the  act ;  that  the  intellect  must  guide  the 
hand;  that  the  object  is  not  to  make  skillful  fingers 
alone,  but  to  develop  clear  and  intelligent  thought  as 
well. 

Moral  Value  of  Expression. — Expression  also  has  a  dis- 
tinct moral  value.  There  are  many  more  people  of  good 
intentions  than  of  moral  character  in  the  world.  The 
rugged  proverb  tells  us  that  the  road  to  hell  is  paved 
with  good  intentions.  And  how  easy  it  is  to  form  good 
resolutions.  Who  of  us  has  not,  after  some  moral  strug- 
gle, said,  "I  will  break  the  bonds  of  this  habit:  I 
will  enter  upon  that  heroic  line  of  action!"  and  then, 
satisfied  for  the  time  with  having  made  the  resolution, 
continued  in  the  old  path,  until  we  were  surprised 
later  to  find  that  we  had  never  got  beyond  the  resolu- 
tion. 

It  is  not  in  the  moment  of  the  resolve  but  in  the  mo- 
ment when  the  resolve  is  carried  out  in  action  that  the 
moral  value  inheres.  To  take  a  stand  on  a  question  of 
right  and  wrong  means  more  than  to  show  one's  alle- 
giance to  the  right — it  clears  one 's  own  moral  vision  and 
gives  him  command  of  himself.  Expression  is,  finally, 
the  only  true  test  for  our  morality.  Lacking  moral  ex- 
pression, we  may  stand  in  the  class  of  those  who  are 
merely  good,  but  we  can  never  enter  the  class  of  those 
who  are  good  for  something.  One  cannot  but  wonder 
what  would  happen  if  all  the  people  in  the  world  who 
are  morally  right  should  give  expression  to  their  moral 
sentiments,  not  in  words  alone,  but  in  deeds.    Surely  the 


300  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

millenniuin  would  speedily  come,  not  only  among  the 
nations,  but  in  the  lives  of  men. 

Religious  Value  of  Expression. — True  religious  expe- 
rience demands  expression.  The  older  conception  of  a 
religious  life  was  to  escape  from  the  world  and  live  a  life 
of  communion  and  contemplation  in  some  secluded  spot, 
ignoring  the  world  thirsting  without.  Later  religious 
teaching,  however,  recognized  the  fact  that  religion  can- 
not consist  in  drinking  in  blessings  alone,  no  matter  how 
ecstatic  the  feeling  which  may  accompany  the  process; 
that  it  is  not  the  receiving,  but  this  along  with  the  giving 
that  enriches  the  life.  To  give  the  cup  of  cold  water,  to 
visit  the  widow  and  the  fatherless,  to  comfort  and  help 
the  needy  and  forlorn — this  is  not  only  scriptural  but 
it  is  psychological.  Only  as  religious  feeling  goes  out 
into  religious  expression,  can  we  have  a  normal  religious 
experience. 

Social  Value  of  Expression. — The  criterion  of  an  edu- 
cation once  was,  how  much  does  he  know?  The  world 
did  not  expect  an  educated  man  to  do  anything;  he  was 
to  be  put  on  a  pedestal  and  admired  from  a  distance. 
But  this  criterion  is  now  obsolete.  Society  cares  little 
how  much  we  know  if  it  does  not  enable  us  to  do.  People 
no  longer  admire  mere  knowledge,  but  insist  that  the 
man  of  education  shall  put  his  shoulder  to  the  wheel 
and  lend  a  hand  wherever  help  is  needed.  Education  is 
no  longer  to  set  men  apart  from  their  fellows,  but  to 
make  them  more  efficient  comrades  and  helpers  in  the 
world's  work.  Not  the  man  who  knows  chemistry  and 
botany,  but  he  who  can  use  this  knowledge  to  make  two 
blades  of  grass  grow  where  but  one  grew  before,  is  the 
true  benefactor  of  his  race.  In  short,  the  world  demands 
services  returned  for  opportunities  afforded ;  it  expects 
social  expression  to  result  from  education. 


SELF-EXPRESSION  AND  DEVELOPMENT       301 

•r 
And  this  is  also  best  for  the  individual,  for  only 
through  social  service  can  we  attain  to  a  full  realization 
of  the  social  values  in  our  environment.  Only  thus  can 
we  enter  fully  into  the  social  heritage  of  the  ages  which 
we  receive  from  books  and  institutions;  only  thus  can 
we  come  into  the  truest  and  best  relations  with  humanity 
in  a  common  brotherhood;  only  thus  can  we  live  the 
broader  and  more  significant  life,  and  come  to  realize 
the  largest  possible  social  self. 

3.     EDUCATIONAL  USE  OF  EXPKESSION 

The  educational  significance  of  the  truths  illustrated 
in  the  diagram  and  the  discussion  has  been  somewhat 
slow  in  taking  hold  in  our  schools.  This  has  been  due 
not  alone  to  the  slowness  of  the  educational  world  to 
grasp  a  new  idea,  but  also  to  the  practical  difficulties 
connected  with  adapting  the  school  exercises  as  well  to 
the  expression  side  of  education  as  to  the  impression. 
From  the  fall  of  Athens  on  down  to  the  time  of  Froebel 
the  schools  were  constituted  on  the  theory  that  pupils 
were  to  receive  education;  that  they  were  to  drink  in 
knowledge,  that  their  minds  were  to  be  stored  with  facts. 
Children  were  to  "be  seen  and  not  heard."  Education 
was  largely  a  process  of  gorging  the  memory  with  in- 
formation. 

Easier  to  Provide  for  the  Impression  Side  of  Educatioa. 
— Now  it  is  evident  that  it  is  far  easier  to  provide  for 
the  passive  side  of  education  than  for  the  active  side. 
All  that  is  needed  in  the  former  case  is  to  have  teachers 
and  books  reasonably  full  of  information,  and  pupils 
sufficiently  docile  to  receive  it.  But  in  the  latter  case, 
the  equipment  must  be  more  extensive.  If  the  child  is  to 
be  allowed  to  carry  out  his  impressions  into  action,  if 


302  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

lie  is  actually  to  do  something  himself,  then  he  must 
be  supplied  with  adequate  equipment. 

So  far  as  the  home  life  was  concerned,  the  child  of 
several  generations  ago  was  at  a  decided  advantage  over 
the  child  of  today  on  the  expression  side  of  his  educa- 
tion. The  homes  of  that  day  were  beehives  of  industry, 
in  which  a  dozen  handicrafts  were  taught  and  practiced. 
The  buildings,  the  farm  implements,  and  most  of  the 
furniture  of  the  home  were  made  from  the  native  timber. 
The  material  for  the  clothing  of  the  family  was  pro- 
duced on  the  farm,  made  into  cloth,  and  finally  into  gar- 
ments in  the  home.  Nearly  all  the  supplies  for  the  table 
came  likewise  from  the  farm.  These  industries  de- 
manded the  combined  efforts  of  the  family,  and  each 
child  did  his  or  her  part. 

But  that  day  is  past.  One-half  of  our  people  live  in 
cities  and  towns,  and  even  in  the  village  and  on  the 
farm  the  handicrafts  of  the  home  have  been  relegated 
to  the  factory,  and  everything  comes  into  the  home 
ready  for  use.  The  telephone,  the  mail  carrier,  and  the 
deliveryman  do  all  the  erands  even,  and  the  child  in  the 
home  is  deprived  of  responsibility  and  of  nearly  all  op- 
portunity for  manual  expression.  This  is  no  one 's  fault, 
for  it  is  just  one  phase  of  a  great  industrial  readjust- 
ment in  society.  Yet  the  fact  remains  that  the  home  has 
lost  an  important  element  in  education,  which  the  school 
must  supply  if  we  are  not  to  be  the  losers  educationally 
by  the  change. 

The  School  to  Take  Up  the  Handicrafts. — And  modern 
educational  method  is  insisting  precisely  on  this  point. 
A  few  years  ago  the  boy  caught  whittling  in  school  was 
a  fit  subject  for  a  flogging ;  the  boy  is  today  given  bench 
and  tools,  and  is  instructed  in  their  use.  Then  the  child 
was  punished  for  drawing  pictures ;  now  we  are  using 


SELF-EXPRESSION  AND  DEVELOPMENT      303 

drawing  as  one  of  tlie  best  modes  of  expression.  Then 
instruction  in  singing  was  intrusted  to  an  occasional 
evening  class,  which  only  the  older  children  could  attend, 
and  which  was  taught  by  some  itinerant  singing  master ; 
today  we  make  music  one  of  our  most  valuable  school 
exercises.  Then  all  play  time  was  so  much  time  wasted ; 
now  we  recognize  play  as  a  necessary  and  valuable  mode 
of  expression  and  development.  Then  dramatic  repre- 
sentation was  confined  to  the  occasional  exhibition  or 
evening  entertainment;  now  it  has  become  a  recognized 
part  of  our  school  work.  Then  it  was  a  crime  for  pupils 
to  communicate  with  each  other  in  school;  now  a  part 
of  the  school  work  is  planned  so  that  pupils  work  in 
groups,  and  thus  receive  social  training.  Then  our 
schoolrooms  were  destitute  of  every  vestige  of  beauty; 
today  many  of  them  are  artistic  and  beautiful. 

This  statement  of  the  case  is  rather  over-optimistic  if 
applied  to  our  whole  school  system,  however.  For  there 
are  still  many  schools  in  which  all  forms  of  handicraft 
are  unknown,  and  in  which  the  only  training  in  artistic 
expression  is  that  which  comes  from  caricaturing  the 
teacher.  Singing  is  still  an  unknown  art  to  many  teach- 
ers. The  play  instinct  is  yet  looked  upon  with  suspicion 
and  distrust  in  some  quarters.  A  large  number  of  our 
schoolrooms  are  as  barren  and  ugly  today  as  ever,  and 
contain  an  atmosphere  as  stifling  to  all  forms  of  natural 
expression.  We  can  only  comfort  ourselves  with  Holmes's 
maxim,  that  it  matters  not  so  much  where  we  stand  as 
in  what  direction  we  are  moving.  And  we  certainly  are 
moving  toward  a  larger  development  and  greater  effi- 
ciency in  expression  on  the  part  of  those  who  pass 
through  our  schools. 

Expression  and  Character. — Finally,  all  that  has  been 
said  in  this  discussion  has  direct  reference  to  what  we 


304  THE  MIND  AND  ITS  EDUCATION 

call  character — ^that  mysterious  something  which  we  so 
often  hear  eulogized  and  so  seldom  analyzed.  Character 
has  two  distinct  phases,  which  may  be  called  the  subjec- 
tive phase  and  the  social  phase ;  or,  stating  it  differently, 
character  is  both  what  we  are  and  what  we  do.  The  first 
of  these  has  to  do  with  the  nature  of  the  real,  innermost 
self;  and  the  last,  with  the  modes  in  which  this  self 
finds  expression.  And  it  is  fair  to  say  that  those  about 
us  are  concerned  with  what  we  are  chiefly  from  its  rela- 
tion to  what  we  do. 

Character  is  not  a  thing,  but  a  process;  it  is  the  suc- 
cession of  our  thoughts  and  acts  from  hour  to  hour.  It 
is  not  something  which  we  can  hoard  and  protect  and 
polish  unto  a  more  perfect  day,  but  it  is  the  everyday 
self  in  the  process  of  living.  And  the  only  way  in  which 
it  can  be  made  or  marred  is  through  the  nature  of  this 
stream  of  thoughts  and  acts  which  constitute  the  day's 
life — is  through  being  or  doing  well  or  ill. 

Two  Lines  of  Development. — The  cultivation  of  charac- 
ter must,  then,  ignore  neither  of  these  two  lines.  To 
neglect  the  first  is  to  forget  that  it  is  out  of  the  abun- 
dance of  the  heart  that  the  mouth  speaks ;  that  a  corrupt 
tree  cannot  bring  forth  good  fruit;  that  the  act  is  the 
true  index  of  the  soul.  To  omit  the  second  is  to  leave 
the  character  half  formed,  the  will  weak,  and  the  life 
inefficient  and  barren  of  results.  The  mind  must  be 
supplied  with  noble  ideas  and  high  ideals,  with  right 
emotions  and  worthy  ambitions.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  proper  connection  must  be  established  between 
these  mental  states  and  appropriate  acts.  And  the  acts 
must  finally  grow  into  habits,  so  that  we  naturally  and 
inevitably  translate  our  ideas  and  ideals,  our  emotions 
and  ambitions  into  deeds.  Our  character  must  be  strong 
not  in  thought  and  feeling  alone,  but  also  in  the  power 


SELF-EXPRESSION  AND  DEVELOPMENT       305 

to  return  to  the  world  its  finished  product  in  the  form 
of  service. 


4.     PROBLEMS  IN  INTROSPECTION  AND   OBSERVATION 

1.  Do  you  find  that  you  understand  better  some  difficult 
point  or  problem  after  you  have  succeeded  in  stating  it?  Do 
you  remember  better  what  you  have  expressed? 

2.  In  which  particular  ones  of  your  studies  do  you  think 
you  could  have  done  better  if  you  had  been  given  more  op- 
portunity for  expression?  Explain  the  psychology  of  the 
maxim,  we  learn  to  do  by  doing. 

3.  Observe  various  schools  at  work  for  the  purpose  of 
determining  whether  opportunities  for  expression  in  the  reci- 
tations are  adequate.  Have  you  ever  seen  a  class  when  list- 
less from  listening  liven  up  when  they  were  given  something 
to  do  themselves? 

4.  Make  a  study  of  the  types  of  laughter  you  hear.  Why 
is  some  laughter  much  more  pleasant  than  other  laughter? 
What  did  a  noted  sculptor  mean  when  he  said  that  a  smile 
at  the  eyes  cannot  be  depended  upon  as  can  one  at  the  mouth? 

5.  What  examples  have  you  observed  in  children's  plays 
showing  their  love  for  dramatic  representation  ?  What  handi- 
crafts are  the  most  suitable  for  children  of  primary  gi-ades? 
for  the  grammar  school?  for  the  high  school? 

6.  Do  you  number  those  among  your  acquaintance  who 
seem  bright  enough,  so  far  as  learning  is  concerned,  but  who 
cannot  get  anything  accomplished?  Is  the  trouble  on  the 
expression  side  of  their  character?  What  are  you  doing  about 
your  own  powers  of  expression?  Are  you  seeking  to  culti- 
vate expression  in  new  lines?  Is  there  danger  in  attempting 
too  many  lines? 


INDEX 


Action,  automatic,  275 

classes  of,  273 

factors  involved  in,  59 

reflex,  274 

volitional,  276 
Activity,   necessity    for   mo- 
tor, 56 
Adolescence,  interests  of,  269 
Association,  and  action,  149 

chapter  on,  144 

development  of  centers,  57 

laws  of,  150 

and   methods  of  learning, 
157 

and  memory,  146 

nature  of,  144 

neural  basis  of,  145 

partial  or  selective,  153 

pleasure-pain     motive     in, 
155 

and  thinking,  149 

training  in,  155 

types  of,  150 
Attention,  chapter  on,  15""" 

effects  of,  16 

and  eflSciency,  17 

points  of  failure  in,  20 

habit  of,  27,  73 

improvement  of,  26 

method  of,  18 


Attention,  nature  of,  15 
rhythms  of,  20 
types  of,  22 

Belief,  in  thinking,  180 

Brain,  chapter  on,  30 
and  nervous  system,  30 
quality  and  memory,  162 
relations  of  mind  and,  30 

Cerebellum,  the,  37 
Cerebrum,  the,  37 
Concept,  the,  187 

definition  of,  189 

function  of,  187 

growth  of,  188 

and  language,  189 
Consciousness,  content  of,  10 

known  by  introspection,  2 

the  mind  or,  1 

nature  of,  4 

personal  character  of,  1 

as  a  stream,  5 

where  it  resides,  12 
Cord,  the  spinal,  40 
Cortex,  the,  39 

division  of  labor  in,  45 

Decision,  under  effort,  281 
types  of,  279 


307 


308 


INDEX 


Decision  and  will,  277 
Deduction,  196 
Development,   of   association 
centers,  57 
chapter  on,  50 
and  instinct,  209 
mental  and  motor  training, 

50 
of  nervous  system,  60 
through  play,  215 
Direction,  perception  of,  105 
Disposition,   and  mood,  232, 
230 
and  temperament,  233 

Education,  as  habit  forming, 

78 
Emotion,  chapter  on,  239 

control  of,  243,  246 

cultivation  of,  247 

and  feeling,  239 

James-Lange  theory  of,  239 

as  a  motive,  251 

physiological     explanation 
of,  240 
End-Organ  (s)  of  hearing,  92 

kinaesthetic,  96 

and  sensory  qualities,  91 

of  skin,  94 

of  smell,  94 

of  taste,  93 

of  vision,  91 
Environment,     influence     of, 

213 
Expression,     and     character, 
303 

educational  use  of,  301 


Expression,   and   impression, 

296 
learning  to  interpret,  4 
limitations  of,  297 
self-,      and     development, 

294,  298 

Fatigue,  and  habit,  72 

and  nervous  system,  62 
Fear,  instinct  of,  221 

types  of,  222 
Feeling,  chapter  on,  226 

effects  of,  230 

and  mood,  230 

nature  of,  227 

qualities,  227 
Forgetting,  rate  of,  170 

Habit,  of  attention,  27,  73 

chapter  on,  66 

effects  of,  70 

emotional,  257 

forming  as  education,  78 

and  life  economy,  70 

nature  of,  66 

and  personality,  75 

physical  basis  of,  67 

rules  for  forming,  81 

tjrranny  of,  77 
Handicrafts,   and   education, 

302 
Hearing,  92 

Idea,  and  image,  111,  114 
Image  (ry),  ability  in,  118 

chapter  on,  111 

classes  of,  117 


INDEX 


309 


Image  (ry),     cultivation     of, 
123 

and  past  experience,  111 

functions  of,  120 

and  ideas,  111,  114 

and  imagination,  134 

types  of,  119 
Imagination,  chapter  on,  127 

and  conduct,  133 

cultivation  of,  136, 140 

function  of,  127 

the  stuff  of,  134 

and  thinking,  134 

types  of,  138 
Imitation,  conscious  and  un- 
conscious, 212 

individuality  in,  211 

the  instinct  of,  210 

in  learning,  211 
Induction,  197 
Instinct  (s),  chapter  on,  201 

definition  of,  202 

of  fear,  221 

of  imitation,  210 

laws  of,  205 

nature  of,  201 

of  play,  214 

as  starting  points  in  devel- 
opment, 209 

transitory  nature  of,  206 

various  undesirable,  222 

various  useful,  218 
Interest  (s),  chapter  on,  254 

direct  and  indirect,  258 

and  education,  265 

and  habit,  257 

nature  of,  254 


Interest(s)     and    non-volun- 
tary attention,  23 

order   of   development   of, 
267 

selection  among,  262 

transitoriness    of    certain, 
260 
Introspection,  2 

and  imagery,  116 

method  of,  3 

James,  quoted,  81 

theory  of  emotion,  239 
Judgment,  functions  of,  192 

nature  of,  191 

in  percepts  and  concepts, 
191 

and  reasoning,  195 

validity  of,  193 

Knowledge,  raw  material  of, 
96 
through  senses,  84 


Language,  and   the   concept, 

189 
Laws,  of  association,  150 
of  instinct,  205 
of  memory,  168 
Learning,     and     association, 

157 
Localization    of   function    in 
cortex,  43 

Meaning,  dependence  on  rela- 
tions, 193 


310 


INDEX 


Memorizing,  rules  for,  169 
Memory,     and     association, 
146 

and  brain  quality,  162 

chapter  on,  160 

devices,  175 

factors  involved  in,  163 

what  constitutes  good,  171 

laws  of,  168 

material  of,  166 

nature  of,  160 

physical  basis  of,  161 
Mind,    or    consciousness,    at 
birth,  32 

and  brain,  30 

chapter  on,  1 

dependence  on  senses,  48 

and  external  world,  32 
Mood,   and  disposition,  230, 
232 

influence  of,  231 

how  produced,  230 
Motive,  emotion  as  a,  257 

Neuroglia,  35 

Neurone,  the,  34 

Nerve  cells,  and  nutrition,  50 
undeveloped,  57 

Nerve  fibers,  57 

Nervous  system,  and  associa- 
tion, 145 
and  consciousness,  12 
division  of  labor  in,  43 
factors     determining     effi- 
ciency of,  50 
and  fatigue,  62 
gross  structure  of,  36 


Nervous     system,     and     nu- 
trition, 64 
order  of  development,  60 
structural  elements  in,  34 
and  worry,  62 

Objects,  defined  through  per- 
ception, 101 
physical  qualities  of,  87,  89 

Percept,  content  of,  101 

functions  of,  103 
Perception,  chapter  on,  98 

of  direction,  105 

function  of,  98 

nature  of,  100 

of  space,  104 

of  time,  106 

training  of,  108 
Personality,  and  habit,  75 

influence  of,  213 
Play,  and  education,  215 

instinct  of,  214 

and  work,  217 

Qualities,   sensory,   auditory, 
92 
cutaneous,  94 
kinsBsthetic,  96 
objects  known  through,  85 
olfactory,  94 
organic,  96 
taste,  93 
visual,  91 

Reason,  and  judgment,  193 
nature  of,  193 
and  the  syllogism,  196 


INDEX 


3U 


Registration,    and    attention, 
163 

and  memory,  163 

recall,  165 

recognition,  166 
Rhythm,  of  attention,  20 

Self  expression  and  develop- 
ment, 294 
Sensation,  attributes  of,  89 

chapter  on,  84 

cutaneous,  94 

factors  conditioning,  88 

kinsesthetic,  96 

nature  of,  89 

organic,  96 

qualities  of,  85 

qualities  of  auditory,  92 

qualities  of  olfactory,  94 

qualities  of  taste,  93 

qualities  of  visual,  91 
Senses,  dependence  of  mind 
on,  48 

knowledge  through,  84 

work  of,  33 
Sentiments,  development  of, 
235 

influence  of,  236 

nature  of,  234 
Smell,  94 

Space,  perception  of,  104 
Stimuli,  education  and,  60 

effects  of  sensory,  55 

end-organs  and,  47 

sensory,  46 


Stimuli,  and  response,  53 
Syllogism,  the  196 

Taste,  93 
Temperament,  233 
Thinking,     and     association, 
149 

chapter  on,  179 

child  and  adult,  184 

elements  in,  186 

good  and  memory,  171 

types  of,  179 
Time,  perception  of,  106 

Validity,  of  judgment,  193 

Vision,  91 

Volition,  see  will,  271 

and  decision,  277 
Volitional  types,  284 

Will,  and  attention,  24 

chapter  on,  271 

content  of,  272 

freedom  of,  290 

function  of,  272 

measure  of  power,  284 

nature  of,  271 

strong  and  weak,  283 

training  of,  288 

types  of,  285 
Work,  and  play,  217 
Worry,  effects  of,  62 

Youth,  and  habit-forming,  79 

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